#if back then you had to play tricks to get the algorithm to work in your favor i cant imagine what it must be like for artists now ! 😭

[thedrotter]

i will place instagram on a boiling water pot what hurt it from leaving the sort by recents options for tags alone... i am bewildered by how awful instagram has grown for artists god forbid I can actually see things within the tag that im searching fo and not whatever the algorithm wants god forbid I can actually find small art account's posts easily

[tutantmeenageneetleteetle]

What are each of the turtles' (and mayhaps some other characters like April and Casey if you're cool with that 👀) favorite social medias?

Favorite social media

Hello friend, thanks for the request! I feel like social media is a big part of the turtles lives, mostly because it's so hard for them to meet new people organically.

Leo

1. Tumblr. This guy is spending most of his time looking for Space Heroes headcanons and you can't convince me otherwise. He definitely has a Space Heroes blog himself

2. Instagram. He loves to see what people are up to.

3. Tiktok. He actually liked it so much, he decided to delete it to boost his productivity, because he ended up doomscrolling.

Raph

1. Twitter. He secretly enjoys celebrity drama, even if he will never admit it

2.Snapchat. Has some of Caseys friends on here too, the main way he communicates with people. He forced all of his brothers to get Snapchat too, reacts faster on their snaps then texts.

3. Instagram. Mostly looks at memes on here.

Donnie

1. Youtube. He loves putting it on while he's working on an invention, or watches tutorials on how to build or code things.

2. Reddit. He's a very curious guy.

3. Tiktok. The algorithm is really good, so he gets a lot of science related videos

Mikey

1. Tiktok. Dopamine addict.

2. Twitch. Loves watching people play horror games, because he could never play them himself.

3. Instagram. Mostly because everyone else uses it, and this is the only way he can send Leo and Raph memes, because Raph rarely and Leo never uses tiktok anymore.

April

1. Instagram. That's the main platform everyone she knows uses anyway, and she loves to stalk people she knew from highschool.

2. Pinterest. Outfit inspo, study motivation, all the good stuff

3. Facebook. That's how she keeps in touch with friends from elementary and her family.

Casey

1. Tiktok. He has a hockey/rollerskating account where he does cool tricks and jumps

2. Snapchat. Snaps his friends and his hockey team has a snapgroup.

3. Instagram. Everyone from highschool had it, so he sort of got stuck on it.

Splinter

1. Youtube. Very rarely watches something on here. Mostly he believes that social media is full of unnecessary distractions.

2. Facebook. He knows Facebook exists, that's about as good as it's going to get.

3. Yea, that's literally it. He barely knows how to use a smartphone. Back in the day, he just had a flipphone, so that he could call and be called, but that's about all he does with his new phone too.

[tinkertechy]

The Ice World Fatigue Point

AKA I'm rambling about game design this time. Have fun.

So I was playing a little game called Bear and Breakfast-You play a bear called Hank who decides to open up a BnB and bring people back to the forest because... he likes people. Fun little game, had a few kinks last I played it, might revisit it in the future. While playing, though, I noticed I hit a frustration/fatigue point in the 'ice' level, about 2/3rds of the way through the game. The normal gameplay loop was starting to wear thin, and the new mechanic added wasn't quite enough to bolster the area until you reach the last zone. A jump in difficulty and some rough pacing in the main plot didn't help matters.

Then I realized I had felt this before. I call it the Ice World Fatigue Point.

Consider that most modern video games draw a basic design philosophy from the Super Mario series; the standard environment progression. (Also known as the Sorting Algorithm of Threatening Geography) World/level 1 is always Green Hills, Oceans is usually 3/4, and so on, with Fire/Death being the last zone. The Ice realm typically falls at the 2/3ds point in this progression. Even if it's not a conscious choice, it happens far too much to be coincidence.

The 2/3rds point is also the point in the game where the gameplay loop up to this point starts to feel thin or tame; The player has mastered it and won't feel challenged by it unless something changes. Alternatively, the plot has reached a 'slow' point between the dramatic revalations and the 'dark night/point of no return'. A new mechanic or design trick needs to be added to incentivize the player to keep going until they reach the last zone.

When these two elements mix, you get Ice World Fatigue. It's not a hard and standard rule that the Ice World is the fatigue point; it just happens to be most common for that point to be where fatigue sets in. Usually a new mechanic is introduced here to try and kickstart gameplay, but it usually means sliding around pathetically until you reach the end of the level or trying to fight off freezing to death.

I'm gonna list out some games below and the point in the game where you hit 'fatigue' because you're ready to get to the final fight, but the game won't stop dragging on. See if you agree with me!

Kingdom Hearts III: Frozen World (Not helped by the drastic re-writes.)

FFXIV: Levels 35-40 (Coerthas-It can drag on when you just want to get the ship and leave already.)

FFXV: Garlemald Nifleheim outskirts. Not a lot happens here and the railroading (ha) really kicks in.

Bear and Breakfast: The Ice Chateau (Where I first noticed this trend)

Any Pokemon Game: if there's a Ice gym, it's always the 6th/7th gym.

Xenoblade Chronicles: The Arm. There's no point for that part of the story to exist, it's just filler to get to the rest of the plot.

The Legend of Zelda; Multiple games pull this, although Twilight Princess and Ocarina of Time are most notable.

Luigi's Mansion; Dark Moon: The 4th out of 5 mansions is the Ice Cheateau.

Really, Most Mario Games, due to Nintendo sticking with What Works.

I originally had a longer list, but I can't seem to find my notes. Feel free to reply with your own games!

[tabinationtabbystar]

So I see how this is gonna pan out bogas azz programs and charges for what really I never casted the first stone I'm a glass house Carl son and I truly thought you had my back in my community your a college student and writing a story also I'm my own athur Hun narrate all u want for I Tabatha Ann Tuszynski is the women God and Jesus has remembered and when the hell are you able to tie in my children missing school if the passed I shouldn't have warrants I'm getting the charges all of them thrown out! I can't believe you literally used the legal system on me and my story wtf is wrong was he not wanting anyone around but lil girls my app is working at talky and linksy so double dare the state to fck with it you would literally throw us in scummy apartments living with murderers petifiles and drug dealers knowing I have two fckn daughters whom reside with me in this shitty atmosphere cause you want my money so it's ok to hit me with Hochuls plan don't think so how'd you feel to be ripped away from your family's algorithm or not feel wanted or loved and failure to exercise control over a minor who you I assume 1024 yeah I'm not harassing, but I'm expressing how easy it is for a young police student to sexually be manipulated aswell and I never ridiculed or said anything bad about your Charles in charge girlfriend get out fantasy world playing with my life is like playing a nasty trick on God so bring it sister. #JPD #MHA #Fakeloyalty #Theives #spotlight #domesticviolence #diversity #sexualassult

[coffeeshub]

Saw this and couldn't help it. Would prefer if you watch it when the reader does in the story! Thank you and enjoy!!

Here's a Sebastian Stan x Reader inspired by the above real. It's the reader's (Rhea, here. Sorry!?) first ever movie WITH Sebastian Stan, luckily(😮‍💨). I've scratched my head over this for one hour so it shouldn't be THAT bad. You are warned.

Warnings - Swearing and Sebastian Stan

((ughhh he's so fine I can't)

I absentmindedly scrolled through the explore page on my personal account. A few months ago, I wouldn't have done that while working on set with everyone around me. Why would I? The last thing I needed was anyone catching me with a explore page full of my co-star.

Now, don't get me wrong. That was before I got cast with him, on my very first gig, and we became friends for real. So naturally, I had to stop fangirling over him. Even though actually working with him did not help with that in the slightest.

I had tried to trick my algorithm into thinking I hated him. I disliked ALL the Sebastian Stan posts I had liked— and I'm not exaggerating when I say it took hours— and liked every non-Sebastian thing I could find. It did the trick, kind of. After a good 3 months, Instagram forgot that I was (am?) a Sebastian Stan obsess.

And yet there were a few times some reels dropped by, like now. I usually ignore them or scroll past, but this one caught my eye. The cover said 'Sexy Sebass' with Sebastian in a interview in the background. I couldn't help myself. I clicked on it and the real started playing with no sound and captions.

...

I burst out laughing. Literally. I knew Sebastian got embarrassed and hence annoyed at being called any variation of 'hot' or 'sexy'. I couldn't have imagined him saying that with such a straight face without having already unalived the person.

"What's so funny?" A voice whispered in my ear. I got as startled I could in my laughter haze, instinctively trying to back away from him. I'd already realised halfway that it was just Sebastian messing with me, but I felt a hand around my waist, pulling me back, closer to him where he could see my phone and what made me laugh so hard.

"Oyyy what?" I croak out, still laughing.

"So, what's so funny?" I only half registered the consequences as I extended my phone towards him, the reel being replayed on it trying to hold back my laugh.

As soon as he realized what it was about, I see half annoyance half amusement pass his face. He turned to me, his hand somehow still rested around my waist. "What the fuck do you watch in your free time?" He had a cute smile on, red in the face, trying to hide his embarrassed face.

I was so close to him, I could see the dimples forming on his cheeks, the way his face scrunched up slightly, the slight red across his face and couldn't stop the giggle. Given the laughter attack I was in just twenty seconds ago, I wouldn't say I was surprised as I dissolved into laughter again, but this time his arms around me, holding me upright.

"Shut up." I heard Sebastian mutter slowly, which didn't help except I laughed harder.

"Se-sexy Sexy Sebass?" I managed to grind out.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure you don't."

"Shut up, Ray."

"Now, vanilla ice, that's not a very nice thing to say to someone." God, I should stop laughing.

He groaned, throwing his head back in frustration, subconsciously pulling me closer.

I faltered. Too less air, I knew shooting at higher altitudes was a bad idea. Sebastian recollected himself and looked back at me. His eyes gleeming with something I had never seen with him before.

Closer than ever. Too close.

That stopped my laughing.

We were almost touching everywhere, with his one hand still on my waist, that had gotten higher, and mine awkwardly fitted between us, because the only other spot was his chest.

A small smug smile tugged on his face, eyes flickered with mischief and something else, and holy shit, I tried not to melt on the spot.

"Should I be worried about the fact that you were watching reels from a Sebastian Stan fanpage?"

Fuck.

Dumbfuck.

Dumbfuckingfuck.

D—

"Sebastian, Rhea, it's the next shot! Are you guys ready? "

Talk about saviours. I love you Mack.

"I– uh we should go. I've– uh– I gotta get ready."

I not-so-gratefully pulled myself away from him and rushed towards Mahia, my makeup artist, almost sure that my cheeks were burning red.

[diamondshapedcat]

Dehumanization. That's what it was. That's what it is. All I wanted was a place at the table, a level playing field. The opportunity to work among everyone else in the world.

That's what they told me in school. They said that I should think about what job I wanted when I was older. That there was so many options out there. So I picked one and started to learn how to fix cars. And they set me up to fail, probably thinking that this autistic person was just being silly for wanting to work. 'Awww he thinks he's people' 'Let the little guy pretend he's smart' All said behind my back of course but looking back I can tell they were thinking it. After 3 years of learning and unsuccessful applications I found out why I wasn't getting anywhere. In addition to the qualifications I needed hands on experience as well. Everyone else was working part time in a garage and never told me. I spent 3 years on a worthless degree because I never got the practical time to go with it.

But I foolishly didn't give up, I kept trying to make it work and be more flexible. I felt that I had to prove that I could do it and make something for myself. I learnt and listened to every bit of advice I could about interview skills and job hunting stuff. I picked up new skills, did the song and dance routine again and again.

But they were only interested in what I didn't have. A neurotypical brain. The world said you have to work, you have to get a job but that assumed that you were neurotypical. I kept going and going, listing to their false reassurances and lies that I would get it next time and I just need to try a little bit harder. Despite everything I kept going despite my mental health spiraling downwards into the toilet and suffering from depression. I dug my nails into the false hope that I would get it next time. I based my self worth on getting a job and that blinded me to every horrible ugly truth about this world. I felt like I had to get a job because I wanted to be able to look after myself without having to worry about anything. It was my world and I made it my sole reason for existing.

In 2021 I finally had enough and told my job advisor at the time to pull his finger out of his arse, stop bullshitting me and get me a job. Of course realising that I had seen through the lies he let me go.

That was a good day and even now it brings me a smile.

That was the day the pain stopped. The day I walked away. The day I regained my humanity. When the healing started.

For a while I kept applying for jobs on my own. trying out whatever tricks I could think of. Over the 15 or so years I lost, I notice that as time went on I met less with people and more with automated applications. It got worse, in other words. Another barrier put up to stop me. I struggled with people who didn't care and algorithms that couldn't care. If by some miracle I managed to get to a person, they would figure out I was autistic within 5 minutes and another day would be wasted.

The biggest thing I learned was that no was the only answer I would get. Again and again no matter what I did, I was told I was worthless. Come back where you are human. And I believed it. What I should have learned was that I should have told them to fuck off and not give a shit about their rigged game but that just made me try harder to prove myself. If my best wasn't considered human that what was I? Did I not have worth? Did the world see me as nothing more than a problem that no one wanted to deal with?

Dehumanization.

So that brings me to today. Free from the pain and discrimination but with too much time and nothing to do. I forgot how to be human and I'm relearning my self worth. Not to value myself entirely on my employment status.

I know that one day I am going to forced back into that hell, and I won't survive. I will be broken down again and again to the point so that when I finally throw myself off a bridge I won't feel anything when I hit the ground because I will already be dead inside.

For now I'm just going to try and enjoy life while I can.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING MANAGERS

Your early twenties are exactly the time to take insane career risks. That's the sense in which startups pay better on average, because there is more room for spikes. If the smaller investments are on convertible notes, and convertible notes have not valuations but at most valuation caps: caps on what the characters said and did the subtler clues, the better. Unless you're experienced enough at fundraising to have a remedial character. These are some of the biggest remaining obstacles is pride. And the best paying jobs are most dangerous, because they get their pick of all the startups. In most, corruption still has the upper hand. They have an answer, certainly, but odds are it's wrong. Like chess or painting or writing novels, making money is a very specialized skill. Maybe successful hedge fund managers are mean; I don't know why I avoided trying the statistical approach.1

It is just as true today, though few of us create wealth directly for ourselves except for a few specialists like thieves and speculators something you have to try very hard to make themselves rich. This question makes founders feel they should be planning to raise. For the average user, all the online stores were built by hand, by web designers making individual HTML pages. Be nice. I'll talk about tricks for coming up with startup ideas on demand. They all say they love you, but they need you to come in for one meeting to meet some of the biggest remaining obstacles is pride.2 But Balzac lived in nineteenth-century France, where the Industrial Revolution was well advanced. Thanks to Jessica Livingston and Chris Steiner for reading drafts of this. That's an interesting idea.

What counts as a substantial offer depends on who it's from and how much it is. They may also make the biggest investment. 96. I have to admit it's one of those rare people who have x-ray vision for character. It may seem unlikely in principle that one individual could really generate so much more distracting that I had to add a new application to my list of known time sinks: Firefox. You can probably start a startup and make them buy it to get you? Tv are a good example of close friends who work for big companies. It's inconvenient to do something. So perhaps one reason schools work badly is that they're too much influenced by recipes for wisdom have an element of subjection. Yesterday one of the reasons they did was that it used a TV for a monitor, which seemed intolerably déclassé to a high-school kid. A fundraising, and decide they should raise money too, since that seems to be growing. They say that they didn't have the people yelling insults out of cars.

Maybe successful hedge fund managers are mean; I don't know enough to say. How much were you planning to spend? At YC we're excited when we meet startups working on things that could be taught better by itself. A greedy algorithm takes the best of the options in front of a computer that could only ever have appealed to Harvard students, it would be to make the headers look innocent, but my guess is that it lets you jump over obstacles.3 The big change that experience causes in your brain. Meet such investors last if at all. Better to let the wrong idea become the top one, rather than their words. This was easier to grasp when most people lived on farms, and made many of the things the internet has shown us is how mean people can be. The unsexy filter, because the advice I've given is essentially how to play hardball back. It's oddly nondeterministic. An early stage startup.4

Notes

This includes mere conventions, like a headset or router. If they want you to believing anything in particular made for other kinds of work into a de facto chosen by human editors. But I think this is so valuable that visitors should gladly register to read this to realize that species weren't, because even being deliberately misleading by focusing so much from day to day indeed, is this someone you want to save money, the light bulb, the higher the walls become. I'm not saying, incidentally, that suits took over during a critical period.

Economically, the space of careers does.

This just seems to be a niche. This is the proper test of success. In a typical fund, half the companies that tried to pay the bills so you could try telling him it's XML.

More precisely, the top and get data via the Internet, and in a time machine, how can I make the police treat people more equitably.

Thanks to Geoff Ralston, Garry Tan, Alexis Ohanian, Patrick Collison, Jessica Livingston, and Fred Wilson for sparking my interest in this topic.

[dreamsandroots]

The View from Down Under

The rarest treasures are often the ones hardest to decipher: that which operates only within the interior of the epistem��, obscured from outsiders. A secret path back home. An anachronous story which changes with the teller’s inflections, their changing dispositions. If there’s one thing the West excelled at (at least since the onset of market libertarianism) it was making its own story accessible. Perhaps accessible is not quite the right word here. Unavoidable might serve more aptly. 24/7 availability, the dream that never sleeps. Excitement in your face, your eyes bleeding, a narrative of Capital Realism that engulfs the horizon. What can you even say about a story that’s so catchy it sticks in your head even as it strangles you? Its jingles and theme tunes ringing in your cells, snaking through your interior circuits? The lens changes: what you see when your eyes become free from the joy of hunger, defined only by the absences of what you can and cannot take. Apocalypse is only a secret whose articulation would certify the ego’s erasure. Scare it into a bullet. The original trick. Fascism’s pull works best behind a pretty face. Gather enough pretty faces, arrange them to cover over your dark corners, and you can divert attention from any atrocity, any factory polluting as it builds its landfill or its bombs. The beautiful ones, the lucky ones. Soon you’ll be made to feel crazy, a paranoid fool, for pointing at anything beneath the surface. The beautiful face becomes the arena within which the ongoing dialectic of division plays indefinitely. A white face, an androgynous face, a coloured face, a trans face, all of them beautiful faces pointing towards the edges of a misplaced sense of self-righteous anger that is tied to our sense of belonging from one moment to the next, and the distinct sense that the battlegrounds of identity have been constructed to keep us looking out to our other in envy. How might we place ourselves in the centre of gravity once again? Don’t they realise how much we have struggled too? The algorithm’s inner logic: a magical formula that predicts and predicates profits on the margins of social dissolution.

But perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves here a little. Let’s step back for a moment and think about the dream we had, the one which confuses the hell out of us every time we think on it: not necessarily in a way that leaves us frustrated or exacerbated on the knife’s edge of reason, but rather in the same way that we might imagine it to be pleasing for the plant to think of the different routes it might travel of a day in order to best drink up the sun’s energy. This must be what they mean by ‘quanta’, the superposition of that which is unable to be measured. Nothing in its box. Fixed categories, the static noise of holy conception, trickling and clicking in susurrations and blips through the skin. To stay indefinitely in this gelatinous state of mass, though impossible, must at times seem tempting. To lay snug in our beds comfortably, our needs, our hungers fed intravenously, or via some hare-brained rendition of the digital cloud, must seem something close to a post-lapsarian, pre-eminent paradise. Cycles beget cycles, our bodies growing towards the sun, the moon and various other heavenly bodies, cell by cell. Forget the false binary of dead-cat-living, we are all of us swarms of creatures, balancing tentatively, the species of the brain aware only through a kind of mass-extrapolatory intuition of those in the belly, the mouth, the lungs, the throat, your fingers, the soles of your feet. If only we didn’t have to go to work on Monday, or the day after that. But, I guess every Matrix comes with its own built-in Neo. The ego’s storm clouds. An interior gut punch, a vortex in the pit of your belly. Why can’t we dream forever?

As you walk the dusty streets you realise yourself as the inconsolable deficit. You are white skinned like it’s some kind of blessing. You wear trousers like a man does. You stand up at the urinal to pee, it’s true. Ugly stubble prickles the skin on your face. The chemicals raging in your body, along with the 10y gap in any sense of physical intimacy with another person, have you falling into the embarrassing slobbery drawl of the gaze, staring at what you believe to be the solution to your shortfall: slender, smooth-skinned, expensive clothes, perfect hair, an alluring scent, the ultimate in sublimation, and you have to alleviate yourself from the male fantasy that these angelic beings emerged from heaven’s egg perfectly constructed as if by the hand of God Themself, and that you’re some kind of Odysseus, strapped to the mast of his own ship, navigating through the sublime waters of the sirens. You’re reminded, too, of the cultural boneyard that is Sydney/Gadigal, its highways superimposed on top of sacred spaces, travelling grounds for the one remaining world culture that can provide evidence of continuous cultural practices that date back (according to Neale & Kelly) for at least tens of thousands of years. It’s only in recognition that our problems are skin deep in comparison, the realisation that to approach the problem with the requisite curiosity and open-heartedness of the dreamer, rather than the knower, means also to leave behind the tools you have collected to make sense of the world.

I’m a settler, but aren’t we all? According to various socio-political models which attempt to make sense of, and demystify the automated rollout of self-replicating power structures, what seems most urgent is to develop a sense of class-consciousness, a sense of unification that can come only with the recognition of our shared agency, to halt the ongoing hegemony of market freefall. To examine the relationship of ‘Western’ models of learning and the culturally diverse and variegated systems of knowledge evident in First Nations people throughout the world, feels analogous to the image of a man, dying of thirst who, when approaching the river, thinks immediately that the water is his by right. The cultural work of today is an ongoing labour of building bridges and reforesting places drained of life-force. To recognise our common despairs, but also to find a way to share the joys. Australia’s last hope for cultural identity is to recognise its ongoing systems of oppression, to understand what colonises all of us, to see the pollution of domination, control, fixation, for the mental pollution that it is. If I can approach this task with honesty, sincerity patience and understanding, then maybe one day I’ll be able to say, in sincerity, that I have done the work of an Australian, and I will call it my home.

[hewholivesinhisname]

Zerubabbel: father of Jesus

So, we have absolutely no way of knowing how far back the Bible actually happened. The freemasons larped the whole event for instance. There were 71 candidates running around claiming to be Jesus then and every time someone claims to be god or a god there is a bajillion copycats. There is usually SOMEONE in charge of one thing or another of course, but there it's also the case that there's always more people than you think involved. So, polytheism is basically correct although it would be more correct to say that people fighting tooth and nail all over the place to be the one true god while there are bajillions of others lying around is best.

One thing we do know from the Book of Esdras though is that Zerubabbel was the father of Jesus. Zerubabbel was a favorite of the Jewish God and he helped rebuild the 2nd Temple. We know that the witches predate the Jewish god btw because they have the rule of three. This is a prescriptive rule by the way. when they organize things, they plan things in 3. I'm not saying it always happens that way, but if you read the book of shadows you get the sense that "the horned god" and the goddess both predate Judaism and Christianity.

So, Christianity was created and Judaism was created. I don't know exactly by who. I assume that in the Canaanite pantheon there was something of a power struggle and it was El, the father of the gods who won the battle. There is some split between him and the pharaonic deities as well although I don't know what that was about.

Probably in Egypt or during the pyramid builders times, they had a holy book with six days a week and five working days and they had a bunch of slaves and they needed a new holy book and a new god to control the slaves. "We were once slaves in egypt stuff" is kind of belied by the fact that we have pyramids on the dollar bill. We are still slaves in Egypt. I am not getting paid to write this nor go to school and they do everything to drive down wages they can.

It's not clear what really happened to Jesus either. Some say that he never returned and the rabbi's claim they resurrected him and he said he was boiling in hot shit in hell. In other words, he might have been set up from the very beginning as a sacrifice. The story of Jesus' life very much parallels the Jewish rite of sacrificing 2 goats to the gods. Azazel and El.

So, in all probability the "father" that Jesus was talking about is Zerubabbel, but there's also a conflation with the Jewish god which means the guy had two masters and maybe a third because we are now introduced to the holy spirit which is extremely mysterious. Does it have something to do with wifi or 5G technology? I don't know to be honest.

The Jews were in Rome by the time of the Romans, Senators were forbidden to go to Egypt which means maybe a few went, but it's clear that the real power was still in Egypt which is the connection between Jerusalem and Rome. Since they erase history periodically they can play these tricks over and over and over again and no one learns anything. That's the only conclusion you can come to after examining the holy books.

What is a god? I don't know, but there's always lots of people who want to be gods. Probably it has something to do with controlling the money supply. People do things for money, not for gods in general and the lords hate this. They try to make sure the stores are filled with poisons to punish slaves with money. You can see it if you pay attention.

So, I do think these people are real of course, but if you look closer you really see that it wasn't created for humanity's benefit or anything. It was created to create the basic algorithm of "Obey or be tortured" that was what the romans were up to and as soon as you get Jesus showing up it becomes "obey or be tortured for eternity" for mormonism to this day they retain this penchant for torture. It never left.

So, all of this is to say that Zerubabbel is a much more important figure than most people give him credit for. The western christians erased him because they didn't want it to be a Jew who was the father of Jesus.

The reason Jesus was sent is important though which is that they wanted to get rid of all these gods and goddesses of Greece and Rome. they wanted to retain the monotheism even if they couldn't really do it with one person. Why is it so important there is only one god? Well, I don't know to be honest.

The Mormon god clearly lives in Kolob in universe 138,, this is universe 137 and maybe Zerubabbel or Jesus or Melchizidek is in charge of all the humans here.

Melchizidek is also an important figure because he clearly works with the witches to create. The witches predate the male gods and are intricately tied to well....a lot of things. (go girl power!) In particular, I think secrets and such are the kind of thing that women are really good at, especially if they enjoy cuckolding their husbands like Mary did with Zerubabbel or El....maybe both.

I can assure you the religious of course are going to get upset that these are real people who aren't totally perfect or that these stories are political techniques used by the masons to control people. they have been at it a long time. There's the America narrative, the Rome narrative, a sort of algorithm or program to try to control all of reality in the name of, well, control freaks.

I remember reading 1984 and being really disturbed and I realized that these guys at the top really are into being these dark lord types. These immortals act a lot more like Sith lords than they do Jedi. So, good luck surviving because there is a lot of predation, both by the poor and the rich out there.

Reality creation probably happens mostly at the bottom, there may be gods that can communicate with whatever predates matter of course but generally just as men cannot produce babies, lords and masters cannot produce wealth. Only the people can do that. They can build big projects of course, but then, when we have them like the pyramids they let them go empty rather than sharing them because sharing with commoners is not in their nature.

They will share their little manual for slavery with you though because it produces so many good slaves which is what they want. Front to back, that's what it reads like to me, but in addition there's stuff to increase suffering because....well I dunno they probably are into bdsm and enjoy making us suffer.

[thesquareinthecircularhole]

hey stupid, i love you [MCYT: Dream x GN!Reader]

song: hey stupid I love you by jp saxe

warnings: fluff

im pretty sure i made this an gender neutral as possible but if there is an error lmk thanks bby :*

im in a simpin mood bby

as always, song lyrics in italics

i skipped a couple versus due to repetitiveness oops

this is the one i complained about losing, but it actually worked out bc i like this one better...less wordy

word count: ~2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing's wrong, and it's not what I'm used to Oh, does it surprise you too? When it's simple, is it easier than it should be?

"Hey babe, are you okay? You've been quiet today," Dream practically pouted as he asked you. He loved the sound of your voice and while you definitely weren't giving him the quiet treatment, you sure weren't as talkative as you normally are.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just distracted thinking my thoughts." You smiled at him and leaned against him. He looked down at you and pecked your lips. You gave him a sweet kiss back. The smile he gave you made your heart boom. Loving him was as easy as eating a cake (because the usually analogy 'baking a cake' isn't true, its sometimes hard to bake a cake, especially when a hungry streamer keeps trying to eat the batter or start a flour fight).

"Anyway, don't you have a stream with the Dream Team to get ready for? One that starts in," you look at the clock on your phone, "three minutes ago?" The slight panic that crosses Dream's face makes you laugh loud. He gives you another kiss and in less than five seconds has practically launched himself across the house into his recording room. Your laughter follows him the whole way, a smile and blush upon his face.

Nothing's wrong, but when you're not in my arms I send voice notes, you send hearts And get quiet, and I know that means you miss me

Okay, granted, you were the one to remind him that he was streaming with his friends today and speedrunning, but you didn't expect it to last well over five hours. At the beginning you worked on your classwork for your [college degree of choice]. You got it done quickly, as it was nearing the end of the semester and most professors of yours were laidback and wanted you to study more than write nonsense papers (fictional you, i'm so jealous). Occasionally you would jump in fear when you heard Dream shout, still not used to it after years.

After finishing your classwork, you started cooking dinner. Soup was the vibe for the evening, and you had found a wonderful chicken and dumplings recipe a while ago that you wanted to try. You did have to go to the store for some of the ingredients, but luckily it only took you an hour. You can back and he was still streaming. It took about another hour for dinner to be done. You let it cool and prepared yourself a bowl. You set your laptop up and started watching Dream's stream. Hearing his voice made you miss him, so you pulled out your phone.

Going to the two of y'alls messages, you started making him a voice message.

"Hey baby, I made dinner, so don't play so long it gets cold. I love you! Kick the enderdragon's ass baby! Mwah."

You continued watching him stream, and he took a pause for a minute, his screen not moving from the create a new world screen and his mic muted. A couple seconds later you got spammed with every heart offered in the emoji index times what felt like a thousand.

He continued being quiet for a couple seconds, although he did unmute and continue playing, answering George's and Sapnap's questions of where he went with, "I had to take a message."

You're jealous, you shouldn't be I want you obsessively But I know how complicated it can get When you're not in front of me I know insecurities get in your head

Chat sometimes upset you. Sure, you got Dream, all of him, but sometimes the comments made by some of the more obsessives fans were a bit to much.

'With the way he killed those mobs you know he's got good fingers'

'His voice is hot so he must be'

'Heyo dream baby lemme see them feet'

Okay the last one was more weird, and actually turned out to be a joke from Quackity but anyway moving on.

He was your guy, and he promised himself to you, but sometimes he seemed to have a genuine connection with some of the sweeter and not gross ones. It made you scared that someone, one day, will swoop him off his feet with a comment and he’d leave you for them. 

But I'm not gonna interrupt if you need to talk about it Roll my eyes, get offended by the way you doubt it You know you're mine, you just forget sometimes So promise me you won’t And you know I'll remind you when you think I don't

The stream ended a little under an hour later. Dream left his recording room, grabbed a bowl of soup, and found you in the living room, lost in thought. He plopped down right next to you. 

“Talk to me baby.”

“About what?”

“Anything and everything.”

“Okay.” You’re quiet for a bit, despite his offering of listening. He knew you were gonna take him up on the offer, you just needed a bit of time, so he was going to wait patiently. He finished his soup quickly, he was much hungrier than he thought. He put the bowl on the coffee table and before he was all the way leaned back on the couch, you were leaning against him. His arms wrapped around you, your head was tucked in between his head and shoulder, and a blanket covered the both of you. You looked towards the blank tv screen but felt his eyes on you.

“I love you a lot. And I know you love me too, but I’m afraid I’m not enough. You have so many options, especially with your popularity online. I don’t know what I’d do if you left me, whether it be for someone else or just because you’re tired of me.” Dream waits for you to stop entirely, with you breathing heavily.

“Well, you’re right about one thing. I do love you, a lot. The rest of it is wrong and I’ll spend the rest of time telling you so.” Dream says, pressing several kisses against your forehead. 

“Yeah I know it’s stupid to feel this way, but my anxiety gets the best of me. It’s stupid, I’m stupid.”

“First of all, you’re not stupid. Second, hey stupid, I love you.”

Nothing's wrong, I just get in my head too Can you reassure me you, you're still in it? I just wish you could lean in and kiss me

As much as Dream loved you and reassured you, sometimes he would get caught up in his thoughts too. The life of a streamer/youtuber, especially one with as much fame and subscribers as him, was rough. The constant need to feed his fans with entertainment and content, and the need for the content to satisfy his fans was stressful. He hates to admit it, but he some days he spent to much time working and not enough with you. He thinks you would be so much happier with someone without a tight schedule and without a large, intense fanbase. Any random person on the street would be better for you than him, he thinks. 

When he gets into this headspace, the only thing that grounds him is your lips on his. When you kiss him, the clouds go away and all he can see is your eyes, as bright as the sun, and your smile, which can tempt even the purest. 

Say nothing's wrong, tell me to settle down You do it better than I've ever known how Won't pull some tricks for attention But could I get a little now?

Now, everyone knows that Dream likes some attention. He especially likes attention from you. Good thing is you also like attention, especially from him. The not so good thing is both of y’all get distracted so bad, it’s almost too funny.

He tends to get your attention by tickling you, whether it be in the comfort of your home or in public. One day, when you guys were walking through town, you stopped at a flower booth and got to talking with the friendly and flirty florist gentleman. It had been a couple minutes, and Dream was really needing some love, but you continued chatting with the florist who was definitely going to ask for your number but you genuinely thought he was just being nice. Dream crept up behind you and placed his hands on your side. You froze for a moment and looked at him, confused. The smirk that crossed his face barely gave you a second to prepare as he tickled your sides. Your laughter filled the street as you turned around as he tickled you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, which got him to stop ticking you, and gave him a kiss. The two of you continued on your way, attached at the hip.

And one day, when you wanted his attention, it was after he was done recording a manhunt with his friends. The actual video had been done for a bit, but they were just fucking around in the minecraft world and talking to each other. You had had a not so nice day, and wanted the crushing weight of your boyfriend on top of you. You crept into his recording room and came to stand right behind his chair. Based on the conversation you could tell he wasn’t recording anymore, so you knew it was safe. Your hands started in his hair, trailed down to his face, and slid down his body till your arms were wrapped around him snuggly. Your head was placed on top of his. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, and received no response. Instead, you began aggressively shaking him and the chair, turning it this way and that, making him slightly dizzy. His laughter filled the room, and he quickly ended the call. The two of you spent the next 12 hours cuddled in bed, leaving only for the necessities. 

You're jealous, you shouldn't be I want you obsessively But I know how complicated it can get When you're not in front of me I know insecurities get in your head

Dream got jealous as well sometimes. You were beautiful and a lot of the time attracted the attention of random passerbyers. Those people, who you don’t even know, who lived normal lives where they didn’t have to spend every second worried that their face will be revealed to the public and suddenly all their fans from around the world will know what they look like or the general area in which they live, who don’t have to obey algorithms and bend to the will of the masses to make sure they get paid enough to live, who could give you a normal and safe life. Every time one looked at you with some attraction, he pulled you a bit closer and kissed you a bit harder. 

But I'm not gonna interrupt if you need to talk about it Roll my eyes or get offended by the way you doubt it You know you're mine, you just forget sometimes So promise me you won’t And you know I'll remind you when you think I don't

Sometimes, Dream needed to rant. A long, hard, intense, rant. Sometimes it was about how someone accused him of cheating his speedruns. Sometimes it was about how someone said something nasty to him or one of his friends. Sometimes it was about a comment someone made about him or you that got on his nerves. When he needed to talk, you sat there and you listened. You did whatever he needed to get better, whether it was just listen or talk to find solutions. You did it because you know he would do the same for you. And afterwards, a cuddle session was a must. 

How could you forget? I told you seventeen times before 7 AM I love you How could you forget? I told you seventeen times

The morning after rough days were one of the bests. Arms tangled together, legs tangled together, everything tangled together, no one able to tell where one started and the other ended. Lazy kisses pressed to faces, hands, necks, any part of skin the lips could touch. One particular morning you woke up earlier than he did. A quick kiss against his cheek woke him up, and he gave you the most love filled smile any man could do.

“Hey stupid,” you said, “I love you.”

[stargirlwnchstr]

I have a visual to share with y'all. Say welcome to my long ass 'The Foxes + tiktok' headcanon

@ nickythefox_es (part 1???)

Basically Nicky gets tiktok but all of the foxes show up eventually and just use his profile.

• Most of the videos are with nicky and allison, also matt and dan and occasionally neil.

• Allison and nicky learn so many dances.

• Their duet of make his pockets hurt with Mariah and Zane from the vlog squad is the first one to go v i r a l.

• Yeah most of their followers know them but some and a lot of the comments are non exy fans that just watch them because they're cool

• So many of the "what is exy" "stickball game??" "dont even bother explaining to me what is the sport they play I dont care I'm just here for neil." And related comments get a liked from creator (andrew told nicky to like them)

•The "Oh my god she's coming." "I'm so afraid of her." Audio are the twinyards and nicky shows up, he had to bribe them to be a part of that one.

• They post another version but it's Kevin that enters and Allison and Nicky talking

• So many comments thirsting over them and calling matt and dan parents

• "the real bisexual struggle is simping for matt and dan in the same tiktok." -> liked from creator nickythefox_es commented/replied: ASDGFKSSDWADKWB

• Someone makes a 'put a finger down: Neil Josten edition' and nicky drags him to do it. They both smile as they listen to the prompts and Neil obviously puts all his fingers down but they're like "put a finger down if you clapbacked/if you bad mouthed someone (bonus points if it was on national tv)" "put a finger down if you're under 6 feet" "put a finger down if you love exy" and the last one just says "put a finger down if andrew minyard." Neil does and smiles at someone off camera. Needless to say it goes viral as well. A few weeks after nicky gets verified.

• Allison becomes friends with thenavarose and wisdom sorry I dont make the rules (they're fashion tiktokers)

• They make a series of rating each of the foxes throughout the day, including one of Wymack.

• They do receive bad comments, from bitter ravens fans or just recalling their pasts and nicky sits down and makes a video telling everyone about how they do this videos for fun they dont need hate and negative comments on their videos and all that

• Then another one posted minutes after, neil comes in and nicky says "okay neil you have one minute. Rant off." And neil goes on this rant like how they already hit Rock bottom a single comment is not gonna hurt them and "do you get how insignificant and meaningless your lives must be? You took the time to write and post a comment that you thought was gonna cause an impact and failed. Also thanks for the comments though it helps nicky stay on the algorithm." NICKY SCREECHES AND THE VIDEO ENDS WITH THEM SMILING

• Allison vlogs neil and her going shopping or thrifting also cutting Neil's hair

• *neil walks into the room wearing his orange bandana* *camera moves and zooms on Andrew's face* he doesnt lip sync but the song sings "oh noo I think I'm catching feelings" andrew tells him to delete it "but it already has thousands of likes andrew"

• They post some of their work out routines per request

• One of them is the fast and "I'm spinning like a ballerina" chill of neil just running on the treadmill and doing sprints and squats and leg stuff while it cuts to allison doing a bit of everything but looking like a queen on a matching set.

• A fun one that goes viral for "vine energy" is: it's very quiet on the court and Kevin, very in the zone, throws the ball to the goal, which Andre's catches easily and almost without moving. The camera goes back to kevin as he screeches and let's himself fall on the ground. Neil is standing beside him shaking his head and looking at the goal with a smile on his face.

• They try to teach neil the dances but while filming one of them he just leaves. They post it either way.

• They're in the bus, nicky is on selfie mode and says "it is game day my dudes" he turns and shows the whole bus S C R E A M S, in the corner Wymack is covering his face.

• The iconic "they say drunk thoughts are sober words" or something like that and it cuts to a series of videos of the foxes drunk af. Example: Nicky grabbing Allison's face and saying 'Remember. Bread. Head. Leave.' And allison nodding.

• Nicky films kevin standing up and put the "do you ever wonder what is going on inside their head?" And it cuts to pictures of racquets and exy and Jeremy Knox and one that says history stuff.

• Another one that goes viral is kevin very seriously and p e r f o r m i n g, rapping Jefferson's side of the cabinet battle #1 from Hamilton then towards the end andrew stands up in front of him and with his iconic bored expression he starts rapping Hamilton's part. Behind the camera there's a soft "...oh my gOD" and kevin is shocked eyes widen open and then the camera zooms on Neil who's mouth is open in shock but GRINNING and ~impressed~

• Dan and matt do The challenge, you know the one that like has to flip them over and all that and they ace it, nicky points the camera to where andrew and neil are stating and Andrew says no.

• A few minutes later another video of the challenge is posted only this time is matt and neil.

• Nicky and allison are in full gear filming a dance video (maybe savage or captain hook) on the court and someone films them filming that and then Wymack looking at them SO disappointed cut to Wymack with nicky's phone, having confiscated it and nicky besides him "coach, it's cardio!"

• Hours spent trying trick shots

• Foxes: "get back! Move!" Ravens: "Let me in! I be the I g g y!" Trojans: "Oh my God do no let her in" Foxes: "I am trying!"

• Nicky lying down: "okay but someone needs to tell me how old is the shirtless pottery guy. I can't be part of another controversy. It's for science c'mon. *debby Ryan's*"

• Someone comments "he's eighteen. Simp away, nicky." And he makes a video with his feet swinging and smiling. Aaron gets on the frame and says "we are deeply in need of some bowls." The caption: hi @ papapots

• They are verified so obviously he gains a couple of thousands followers and he duets smiling and with a package in his arms. Text: thanks for the support (and hi new followers from sport side of tiktok hope you enjoy my pots) caption: hi @ nickthefox_es I got you aaron.

• After the package comes they duet it with nicky screaming and showing off the goods and then he moves stop show andrew eating ice cream out of one of them. Caption: AJSNEPWLDKSS THANK YOU DAX

• Allison and nicky do the "I love you!" "No you dont topper! You love the idea of me. You love being seen with me but you dont love me." But nicky is Sarah and allison is topper. Next day the obx ig page reposted it "we stan the psu foxes pogues for life." And chase stokes posts it on Twitter saying "yoo the palmetto foxes watch??? my show???" Nicky takes a screenshot and on green screen he says "hi chase!! We do! The whole team binged it. Currently we've been debating who of us is going to dress up as pogues for Halloween." A lot of voices start arguing and as nicky is gonna enter the debate the video cuts.

• Allison does the facetime *deep male voice says hey* prank on them. Neil doesnt react. Nicky doesnt look up from his phone but does the finger thing and says "get that d, allison!" Dan and renee look at each other and then at allison and she bursts out laughing.

• aaron studying to be a doctor: *two plus two is four etc sound* andrew (eating pretzels from the bag while watching a game show lying down in a bean bag) and his eiditic memory [basically not needing to study]: *three is a magic number sound*

• Nicky runs through the court and enters the lounge beside the photo wall there's a poster he shows the camera as the sounds says it "alive ahaha fuck"

• Somehow they convince all of them to show up and do the wipe it down trend that ends up with wymack throwing the towel at the mirror.

• Comment: so how many members of the team listen to girl in red or sweater weather? Nicky stands there with the color filter: 👁👄👁👉👈 caption: yes❤

• He gets neil to duet to the whole "british people be like". "Neil I'm not british." "Part of you is so just read the tweets." He does and the comments are all thirst and simping

• Comment: raise your hand if you've been victimized by neil josten. Where my fellow Simps at? (The comment gets hundreds of thousands of likes) they make a video, everyone on the team except aaron who walks out raises their hand as the sound says "welcome to simp nation" kevin rolls his eyes but raises his, says something that nicky captions "i simp over his exy skills". andrew doesn't at first, but next to him neil whispers something and after andrew says yes, neil grabs Andrew's forearm and raises it. Andrew looks away and neil smiles.

• Nicky lying down: okay but what if Jean moreau traded places with the french guy from here you know who, david.

• Comment "ugh your mind nicky" reply video: right? Big brain, many thoughts, head full all the time. But like actually the idea of david playing exy and Jean hanging out with ducks and making viral tiktoks just-

• Comment "i feel you and @ austincantdrive would make the best chaotic duo" reply: we would be too powerful together. Austin replies too: agree.

• Allison makes a sports jersey/comfy wear but make it fashion and she styles herself. Everyone on the comments d i e s for her.

• Comment "okay but what about the boys. help allison." She makes a video too with matt and nicky and at the end neil wears an orange crop top and the internet b r e a k s

• Comment "allison do you listen to girl in red?" video reply: her winking at the camera and lip syncing as sweater weather plays. The comments a lot of them liked by creator: a win for the girls (and the boys)

• Upperclassmen Back in 2003: okay but hey do we always have to be involved? Can we do normal stuff that normal people do, like, go for brunch? Us (aaron, andrew, kevin and me): what the fuck is brunch?

• Of course they do the mr blue sky trend. Nicky: drunkenly goes to flirt with a guy. Aaron: drunkenly follows to get away from kevin. Kevin: drunk on pure vodka reminds us we have practice in the morning.

• Or another one all of them. Neil: ready to insult a reporter. Dan: tries not to laugh on camera. Matt: gets ready to hug him afterwards Allison and Nicky: Filming everything. Wymack: the only one trying to stop it from happening and failing.

• Dan and matt duet their reactions to every video edit of them, smiling and saying "your parents love you guys!".

• Comment "literally what is wrong with the ravens/ravens fans?The foxes are such a nice group of people and they're doing great in the sport y'all worship just shut up you cult-y athletic hype house." video reply: "ladies and gentlemen. The volume inside of this bus is A S T R O N O M I C A L."

• comment video reply: okay so we're not gonna talk about nicky at the gym?? Bc C A K E. nicky lip syncing "I'm glad you brung it up because I've been dying to talk about this for a fucking hot minute. First of all-"

• Colin uses one of Neil's or Andrew's interviews replies as one of his sounds and nicky fanboys a lot

• Allison and nicky do the Kardashian sound compilation.

• Nicky with a picture of Erik on green screen: "hi I just wanna say if you look anything like this please contact me. Thank you." Caption: miss u baby. And Erik watches his tiktoks and he facetimes him immediately. Nicky takes a screenshot and duets his own video crying with the screenshot caption: SKALSBSKAJSL Erik comments: stop making tiktoks and answer the phone, hemmick. Nicky replies: yessir everyone below comments keyboard smashes and you got a good one. Goals. Lmao kids that's what we call bottom panic. We stan one healthy long distance relationship and after that a bunch of long distance relationship questions that he makes another video on.

• A video of Katelyn and neil chatting and it pans to the twins watching them with the *when worlds collide sound*

• He reposts a snippet of one of his interviews post game where he grabs the mic from the reporter and nicky: can I say something? Reporter: sure, go ahead. Nicky: thank you. *looks straight into the camera* all the birds died in 1986 due to Reagan killing them and replacing them with spies that are now watching us. The birds work for the bourgeoisie. Thank you." And leaves. IT GOES VIRAL INSTANTLY.

• Comment "is everyone else gonna forget that tiktok where he said he was already part of a controversy? We stan a problematic icon?" Video reply: guys I might have been part of a whole Twitter beef thing against my little hoodie and Bruce hallway but c'mon, like, c'mon you can't blame me.

• Comment "for neil: does the carpet match the drapes 👅😍?" Video reply: neil on selfie mode. "Allison gave me her phone, told me to answer this and ran away so umm." He reads the box on the screen and frowns he walks and stands next to the window, where Andrew is sitting down and is barely seen on frame. "uhmm, the internet is confusing. Our carpet is like this" he turns the phone and shows the floor (grayish carpet) and then back at him "but we don't have drapes so, technically they don't match, I dont know." Andrew's head goes up and simply says "Neil." Neil turns "what?" And the video ends.

• of course nicky and allison do the WAP dance, on the court, when they should be running drills.

[tonystarktogo]

Could I pretty pretty please get some more on the time travel crack au? Maybe when it gets out that Steve, Bruce, andThor are technically from the future?

As much as I’d love to jump to that part, I think it’s funnier necessary to cover a few other tidbits first. For example:

Tony misses whatever discussion follows Thor’s -- hah, got it right in one, he hasn’t lost his touch completely yet -- arrival before the god carries his brother off towards a containment cell with the sort of cheer that causes Tony to carefully keep at least two people between himself and Thor, lest the asshole tries to hug him again.

Not that it can be that big a loss considering they all -- sans Loki -- end up back in the command center of the helicarrier, where Fury glares balefully at the most recent invader of his precious aircraft that clearly isn’t meant to stand in the way of gods.

A glare Thor aggressively doesn’t notice. Likely because he’s too busy partaking in the on-going discussion on what to do next.

And by ‘what to do next’ Tony doesn’t mean the expected we-were-invaded-by-a-mindcontrolled-alien-nutbag-and-there’s-probably-more-out-there-seems-like-the-kind-of-oh-shit-situation-we-should-plan-for. No. That would be reasonable and expected and Tony’s spent all of three hours in the company of the esteemed Captain America and already he can tell you that Rogers is none of that.

[Which, not cool, Capsicle. Dazzling and befuddling people with crazily brilliant ideas is his job.]

[continues under the cut]

So far, Tony’s been paying attention for ten minutes. In that time, Rogers and Thor have gotten into an argument over how to handle Loki -- which holy shit, that went from a calm, rational discussion to a battle to the death between two superhumans on a sugar high in zero point four seconds -- that Tony is so not gonna touch. [Nope. Let some other fool [i.e. Rogers] throw himself head-first into norse god family drama, Tony’s own feelings concerning his family are complicated enough.] That conversation devolved into a not-openly-fighting-while-totally-fighting stand-off between Rogers and Banner over a way too bitter comment from the latter [something about ‘you’d know all about choosing one brother over the other, wouldn’t you’ which what?], which in turn gets derailed by Banner needling Thor about the merits of beheading over stabbing.

Romanoff had the good sense to disappear -- probably to interrogate Loki while his apparently protective big brother is distracted, now that Tony thinks about it. 

Unfortunately that still leaves Tony stuck here, having to play the role of the mature adult because no one else fucking will. Tony hates being responsible. It’s like being back in high school and being left to do all the work on your own in group project.

[Tony failed that project. Got a straight up zero on purpose because spite is a wonderful motivator. Which, now that Tony thinks about it, doesn’t say anything promising about the current situation.]

Tony leans even further back in his seat, only balancing on the backlegs of the chair, to give Fury a very sharp, very judgemental look.

These are the people you’re betting Earth’s survival on, that look says.

Fury’s already pissed off expression darkens further, which brightens Tony mood substantially. That one of the suit’s sensors flashes green twice in quick succession less than a minute later really just makes for a delicious cherry on the top. Or more precisely a good excuse to ditch this trainwreck of a match-making attempt.

“Whoops,” Tony says, clearly audible but not too loud to draw real attention from the three [still arguing-while-pretending-not-to] stooges on the other end of the room. “Looks like I gotta take this call.”

He jiggles his fingers at Fury. The guy rolls his eyes -- probably jealous that he doesn’t have an excuse himself, that bitch face doesn’t fool Tony -- but no one tries to stop him.

“Alright, J, what do you have for me?”

*

Tony pretends not to notice the shuffling footsteps. Glances at the disturbingly normal clock on the wall that is so not up-to-date with the rest of the technology in the room, it must be an inside joke. Tony would love to meet the SHIELD agent behind it -- it can’t be easy, being the only person with a sense of humor in an entire agency.

30 minutes.

Well. That’s longer than Tony thought he’d get. JARVIS still hasn’t cracked the last layer on SHIELD’s really fucked up dirt -- and given what he’s already found, that says a lot -- but it’s only a matter of time now. Besides, Tony’s got a job to do.

“To- Stark.”

“Rogers.”

Tony doesn’t turn. Neither does he stop typing.

“What are you doing?”

Tony scoffs. He’s not in the mood to pander to inferior minds -- not when they’re so fucking frustrating, don’t make any sense and worst of all make him do all the work. 

“He’s tracking the Tesseract, using the scepter as a point of reference,” Banner says after taking one look at the screen over Tony’s shoulder.

Tony raises his eyebrows, impressed despite himself. Banner’s credentials clearly don’t do him justice -- and they were pretty damn good to begin with.

“Huh,” says Rogers.

Thanks for playing. Now buckle down and make yourself useful or fuck off, Tony wants to snipe but doesn’t get the chance to because the gods -- this god at least -- just aren’t on his side.

“Even without my brother’s help, a weapon of the tesseract’s might should not be underestimated,” Thor speaks up. “Should we not make haste and collect it?”

"Great idea.” Tony’s voice is dryer than the sand dune he crash-landed in back during his fun little trip to Afghanistan. “If only I’d thought of that instead of inventing fifteen new algorithms to try and get a read on SHIELD’s precious magic eight ball while you were busy defending your brother’s honor. Speaking of, I’m pretty sure Romanoff is a greater danger to his virtue than Captain Shockfreeze over there, so why are you still here?”

Okay, maybe poking the hornet nest that is godly family isn’t his smartest move [didn’t he just say he wasn’t gonna touch that?!] but damn if Tony isn’t curious. And also too annoyed to care about unimportant, subjective things like good manners and tact.

He sort of regrets his cavalier attitute a little when Thor sobers. At least there are no tears in sight. Tony is the last person on Earth who should be left unsupervised around crying people. It just never ends well.

“Ah.” Thor sighs heavily, stems his body against an unfortunate table that creaks dangerously. "I’m afraid I can’t afford to see my brother right now.”

It’s the way he says those words, the weight they carry more than anything that tells Tony he needs to drop this issue right now. Talk about one huge trigger button.

Must be inconvenient to have siblings. Tony totally can’t relate.

“Well, in that case, unless you have a magic trick with which you can pull the Tesseract’s position out of your sleeve, how about you sit as far away from these delicate instruments as possible and don’t touch anything while I work my magic, hm?”

Tony doesn’t let his gaze linger on the crushed edge of the table. Thor hasn’t even seemed to notice. He’s too busy lighting up at Tony’s snappish response. Which is surprising. Tony’s aware he’s a bit of an asshole right now. In his defence, he’s an asshole most of the time.

Rogers leaps across the room -- almost crashing into the previously mentioned delicate sensors as he does so -- to slap his palm over Thor’s mouth.

Tony stares. [How quickly can you develop a new habit again? Because this starts to feel like a new habit.]

“That sounds like a great plan!” Rogers beams at him, so wide and fake it must be physically painful for the epitome of all that is good and holy. At least Tony hopes it is. The supersoldier his father worshipped is still clinging to their resident god of thunder’s face.

It’s.

Tony resolutely turns his back on both of them because their madness doesn’t seem to come with a refund-ticket and if Tony doesn’t finish this program, no one will.

Not even Banner -- whom Tony had been kind of hoping for. Speaking of, the man’s been awfully quiet for a while now.

“You alright there, Brucie-Bear?” Tony turns around -- a little because it’s polite to face people when you talk with them and mostly to have an excuse not to watch the ongoing doomed wrestle-match between Blonde 1 and Blonde 2. His awesome nicknaming skill doesn’t get so much as a twitch.

To be fair, Banner is so busy staring straight ahead with the most epic rendition of the World’s Most Thoughtful Expression™ Tony has seen in a while that it doesn’t seem like the man heard him. At all.

Until he suddenly speaks up.

“I think we’ve forgotten something.” Behind Tony the impromptu wrestling comes to a sudden halt.

Probably something negligible like how to focus on a mission, the sarcastic voice in the back of Tony’s mind drawls. Though it should be noted that Tony’s consciousness only comes in sarcastic or not at all. Sorry, everyone, all the other flavors are out.

Banner’s frown deepens. “Something- Something important.”

Right on cue an explosion rocks the aircraft.

*

There’s a bit more tension in this part than the previous ones. On Tony’s side it’s because he’s smart enough to pick up on Something Is Seriously Wrong, both consciously and subconsciously and also because he feels the pressure what with everyone else apparently not taking this whole thing very seriously.

[Excluding Natasha who, believe me, takes Clint’s fate very serious indeed.]

On our time travellers’ side, they experience the frustration of being unable to talk openly, surrounded by people they don’t trust, trying to play along to the script of a movie they watched like 12 years ago and never revisited. Needless to say they’re failing horrenduously.

[byproducts-of-my-imagination]

Pining [Akaashi Keiji 1/2]

1.2k words.  There will be some form of closure.  Eventually.  Someday.

Sorry if you already saw this, I took it down an am reposting because tumblr glitched and yeeted all my stuff.  

It's not the first time this has happened, not the first time you've woken up with his image in your mind.  It hurts all the same, that deep aching regret which cuts like a knife.  It wasn't even like you were super close to Akaashi Keiji.  He had plenty of closer friends on the volleyball team.  It was a schoolgirl crush that took root in you and refused to die.  Even though years and years have passed, nothing will be able to erase his gunmetal blue eyes from your memories, or his beautiful skin, pale in the moonlight.  It's like they say: you never forget your first love.  To some extent that's true, but not everyone still thinks of their first love after years of separation, or during other relationships.  You've never been able to love properly because of him and it sucks ass.

Slogging through assignment after assignment is numbing, but you've been forced to get used to it.  Life is life, and work is going to be there no matter what you do.  College is not worth the hype, but you do it anyways.  You do it because you've been told your entire life that you absolutely need to, that a degree is a requisite in the workforce.  You do it because everyone else does, another link in a chain of struggling students just trying to have a life.  

It's annoying, the way it just bites at you from time to time.  Like your brain just won't let him go.  You hear him calling your name, with that teasing lilt in his voice.  You feel the familiar brush of his shoulder against yours just like he did when he used to walk you to class, ages ago in high school.  The worst thing is that you still have the random trinkets he gave you over the years, in the box on your shelf where you store things most precious to you.  You're stuck in a vicious cycle, repeating memories from so long ago.  You see him in your dreams like you see movies in theaters.  He's been immortalized in your mind and you've been doomed to love him forever.  

But you have to let him go at some point, right?  In the later years of high school, when you saw him less and less, you barely thought about him.  But it only took one short "hey" in the hallways for that feeling to come crashing back, for you to start fixating on him again.  It's really not healthy, but you can't help it.  In your sparse interactions, he gave you hope each time.  You could hope that he loved you too, probably mistaking friendly affection for real affection.  

When you separated to different schools, that was the end of it.  At least, for a while.  A fresh start only seemed to temporarily distract you.  Since you stopped thinking about him during the day, he came back at night to haunt your dreams.

And so it goes.  

Your brain likes to play cruel tricks on you.  It likes to dream of way too detailed scenarios with him, little everyday things, domestic snapshots that make your heart ache.  Imagining him there, with you.  

Your heart squeezes, like it's the last time you'll see him.  The last time you did, you didn't know.  But even if you had known, what good would it have done you?  Now every time he shows up, it feels like the last.  And he'll never know.  And you'll never know if he feels the same.  Which he likely doesn't.

You never could say goodbye.

Imagine your surprise, to find him in your class one day back in high school.  Just after an offhand conversation about it.  Dare you hope to think he transferred to be with you?  Do you even dare to get your hopes up for him?  To be brushed aside, again?  

It's just a coincidence, you tell yourself.  Just a coincidence, you say.  Just a coincidence, you pray.  

You imagine.  It's all you can do at this point, imagine him.  That perfection that is Akaashi Keiji.  After years of not seeing him, he's more like a figment of your imagination.  You know the way you picture him is outdated, you know for sure he's grown.  But you as much as you try to imagine what he looks like currently, you can't.  It's a defense mechanism, perhaps, a way to preserve those times, the person he used to be.  Maybe it's a way to hold on.  Maybe it's because you know the current him and the current you have too much distance to ever happen.  

You entertain the idea of sending him a text.  You have him on social media, but he's not active.  Although you do see that he always likes Bokuto’s posts, his handle shows as the first one, taunting you each time.  “Liked by keiji.akaashi and 25,381 others.”  The social media algorithms know you too well.  They know you visit his empty profile too often for your own good.

He wouldn't see a text from you, you reason, coming up with excuse after excuse for your cowardice.  You don't say what your subconscious nudges at you.  It'd be devastating if he saw it and didn't respond, or worse, didn't remember who you were.  Because there's no guarantee he would remember.  You'd think he would, but there's a chance he doesn't.  And you can't take that chance.  You couldn't face yourself, if he'd forgotten you.  Because it'd shatter you, and feed the devil on your shoulder.  It would invalidate what you've spent hours dreaming of.  Tears prick at your eyes, mind running a mile a minute.  What if he actually forgot who you were?  It'd ruin you. He'd ruin you, no matter what outcome.  

There's just no way to explain that magnetism.  All your friends thought it was a simple crush, a brief infatuation that would fade eventually.  Maybe he liked you back at one point.  You’re pretty sure he did, at least a little bit.  But even if he did, it wouldn't work.  A lopsided relationship is a one way ticket to splitsville.  Because there's no way, no way he loves you as much as you love him.  You couldn't take it if he did.  

And so it goes.

Whenever it's time to make a wish —birthdays, fallen eyelashes, dandelions, auspicious times— you used to wish he'd love you.  After a few wishes, you decided you didn't need him to love you.  You just wanted to see him, as pathetic as that sounds.  So you began to wish, wish for a chance encounter with him.  You've long since given that up, but every time you hear, "make a wish" it's like you default to wishing to see him.  

It's terrible, the way you habitually look for him whenever you go anywhere.  The way you sweep a room to look for his figure, to feel his presence.  Maybe wishes do come true.  But your wishes have never come true.  He's never there.  Completely unavailable to you.  

He was your god given solace.  He still is somehow, still is your shelter, your protector.  You're not really okay with the fact that that might never change.

[canmom]

when it comes to something like animation, or film in general, or visual art, or novels... i feel like, i have a reasonable sense of what the field looks like, what different styles signify, what aesthetics and stories I'm drawn to, even how one goes about creating it. i feel "able to speak". i don't think this was always the case to the degree it is now - writing this blog has certainly helped hone my critical "voice", i feel a lot more confident now to speak without hedging - but i feel like I've never been afraid to talk about it.

for whatever reason, the same is not at all true for certain other art forms. music and fashion are the obvious ones. it's not that i don't enjoy listening to music, or find some clothes more appealing than others... it's more that i feel like a foreigner, acutely aware of what i don't know and that i may come off as cringe for venturing an uninformed opinion. "whereof one cannot speak..." etc. and it's not that I'm afraid that someone will lay into me... as far as other people go it's honestly more silence that I am more afraid of, the awkward smile or silent "oh dear" in someone's head, but even if i don't provoke that, i hate to be wrong.

sj shit provided a very helpful concept of a binary heuristic: a work should be judged above all on its political failings and unintended messages, as measured by the ever growing checklist of bad representation tropes and statistical analysis of cast makeup. it was a terrible framework for analysing anything but the most sterile corporate media, but it was at least a framework. so for some years i basically only listened to other trans women, and to soundtracks, which could be considered "safe". (don't be a cultist. it's a miserable time.) which meant i avoided learning about music, not deliberately but effectively... i had a safe strat.

as for fashion... trans nerd, go figure. i got a handful of women's t shirts in colours i liked, learned to apply eyeliner, got some leggings and skirts (which are now falling apart), kept my walking boots, and accepted this as a set of outfit choices which say "person is trans girl" without being too specifically... anything, really.

and then when anyone asks me "what kind of x do you like" and my brain just short circuits because the question is evidently loaded with all sorts of subcultural signification that any answer may say things i don't intend, so i just kind of say something question dodging like "oh i mostly listen to game soundtracks" and try to get them to talk about what they're into. but it sucks bc, even if we do find something we both like, i can't say what i like about it because i have in effect avoided training my ear and learning the vocabulary.

anyway this habit sucks and i would like to break it. many of the people i love are real music nerds, and i want to be able to share that with them, and seek out music without blindly picking from the platter presented by the youtube algorithm. i don't like my brain raising exceptions, i want to understand and refine my intuitions into a sufficiently defined taste that i won't just always be playing the naive ingenue who doesn't know her arse from her elbow when it comes to music. and yeah, running drawing streams and getting people to suggest musicians has helped get me a bit of an education, but it hasn't really destroyed the mental block. i don't know what the answer is - maybe the trick is to practice venturing opinions by writing about music? scary as that sounds, it probably is the only thing that would work. after all that's how i got confident talking about anything else. researching animated films every week for a year and you get a pretty wide knowledge of animated films... write tens of thousands of words about a book or game and you become pretty confident talking book...

so if i started going back over my friends' music recs and look up all the terminology i don't know, maybe at some point I'll start to find a "voice" here. not on the level of jackie or alex but enough to be more than a black hole into which suggestions fall...

as for clothing... don't even know where to begin with this one. ada got me looking at certain subreddits where people post their outfits, so maybe trying to do something like that would be the trick, like just putting on clothes at a shop is hard to imagine getting into, but the idea of turning it into some kind of photography thing... ok ig that would need to be for my friends on discord lol, I'm not doing that out in the open. fashion only evolves in the context of social relationships after all.

the trick is to accept the high probability of being cringe in a bad way and keep going anyway. even knowing you'll do something dumb like get into electro swing for a while. a regrettable episode but did it ruin my life? hardly. you only ever get better at doing something by doing it over and over, so that your brain has a chance to reinforce and adapt to that behaviour. if i want to practice expressing opinions of my own rather than trying to like, fit myself around the tastes of real people who know what they like... well, the only way to do it is to build that habit.

this is all very overwrought but whatever it's 3am.

[ceealaina]

Title: How to Win a Supersoldier in Ten Months Ship: WinterFalcon Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Protective Sam Wilson, Enemies to Friends to lovers, Snark, Pranks, Humour, Sexual Content, Happy Ending LInk: AO3 Summary:  When they realize that all the Winter Soldier's interactions with Sam are just him trying to Awkward MurderBot Flirt (TM) with the sexy man, Steve, Tony, and Nat convince Sam to play the honeypot and bring Bucky in. Sam's pretty sure the honeypot isn't supposed to fall in love with the target, but what can you do?  Word Count: 14,901

Mission Parameters: Kill the mark, Captain America, by any means necessary. 

Means: Violence, murder, subterfuge, lying, distraction, seduction… Seduction. 

Mission Strategy Means Updated. 

Means Target: Natalia Romanova. Negative. Subject Immune. 

Means Target: Steven Rogers. Negative. Subject--t-t--t-t- no no no. Not St- error. 

Asset reset. 

Means Target: Sam Wilson. Positive. Means Selected.

***

Looking back, Sam supposed it all started back in Washington. When the steering wheel had been ripped out of his hand while he’d been driving, his initial reaction had been sheer terror, along with a healthy dose of ‘what the fuck’ because, again, he’d just had the steering wheel ripped out of his hand while he was driving. 

But there’d been a moment on that overpass when, for just an instant, the Winter Soldier had stilled, head tilting curiously as he peered at Sam. And then again, after Sam had kicked him in the back to get him off Steve. Of course he’d followed that up by kicking Sam about three times as hard on the helicarrier and then pulling his damn wing off, so he hadn’t thought too much of it. 

Only then it kept happening. 

After they’d ended the Hydra mess at SHIELD, and taken down the helicarriers, and Steve had been found half-drowned on the riverbank, they’d ended up in New York. Or, more specifically, they’d been co-opted to New York when Stark had shown up approximately five minutes later and immediately started coordinating with Natasha to get a handle on everything from clean up and PR to arranging care for Steve. The next thing Sam knew, he was moving into an apartment in Avengers Tower that already contained half his furniture. 

There’d been the whole awkwardness with the revelation that Barnes was likely responsible for the death of Tony’s parents. Steve had hemmed and hawed about what to do with the information and while he’d still been dithering Natasha had gotten impatient and just told Tony herself. There’d been a lot of screaming and yelling and things had been pretty tense for awhile, but in less time than Sam would have expected, Tony seemed to come to terms with the fact that Barnes hadn’t truly been responsible. And as an added bonus, he managed to convince Steve not to take off after Barnes half-cocked and without a plan. 

Only, as it turned out, he wouldn’t have had to go far because Barnes, it seemed, had followed them to New York. 

He and Steve were on a run “together,” which mostly consisted of Steve being an eternal asshole and lapping Sam around the park. He was just passing from under one of the bridges when something slammed into him from the side, knocking him into the grass. It wasn’t as painful as it could have been, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he yelped loudly when he rolled over to find the former Winter Soldier looming over him.  

“Um.” Sam swallowed hard, felt his heart pound in his chest. “Hey there.” 

Barnes didn’t speak, just stared down at him. Trying not to spook him with any sudden movements, Sam drew his legs up, trying to regain his footing. But the second he started to pull himself into a seated position, Barnes moved, giving him a hard enough shove that he found himself flat on his back again, although it hadn’t hurt. 

“Okay,” Sam said, holding his hands up. “You want me here, that’s fine.” 

For just a second he could swear that he saw the hint of smirk on Bucky’s face. 

And then Steve’s voice came from further down the path, yelling Bucky’s name. Sam turned automatically at the sound of his voice, and when he looked back again Bucky was gone. By the time Steve zoomed up beside him (not even winded, the asshole), Barnes was long gone. 

“You alright?” Steve asked, looking at him in concern.

Sam nodded, pulling himself to sitting and waving Steve off when he moved to check him over. “I’m fine,” he grunted, brushing dirt off his knees. “He just… Pushed me.” 

“He… Pushed you?” Steve repeated. He looked confused, but Sam could see the smile twitching at his lips. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“At least he’s getting less violent?” Steve offered. “That’s gotta be a good sign, right?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam agreed, taking the arm Steve offered and letting him pull him to his feet. “That’s a huge consolation for me. Maybe he confused me for you too, huh?” 

***

The next time it happened, Sam was alone, coming back from a dentist appointment, of all things. He was on a relatively quiet street uptown, no one else in sight. He was checking his phone when there was the clank of metal on metal. Before he could look up he was suddenly being doused with a large spray of water. 

“What the fuck?” Sam hollered as he was drenched immediately, coughing a little as some of the water got in his mouth. It took him a minute to realize that it was the fire hydrant that he was being sprayed with, another minute to figure out which way was up and get out from under the spray. “What the fuck?” he asked again, coughing and trying to catch his breath. He leaned against the wall of the building and when he looked up he caught a brief glimpse of a very familiar figure standing on the other side of the spray.  

It was, at least, a warm day, so Sam didn’t risk hypothermia on his trek back to the tower. That was about the only consolation he had, and by the time he made it home he was uncomfortable and cranky. He couldn’t even be surprised when the elevator opened on the common room floor instead of his own to reveal Steve and Tony. They were arguing amicably over something but stopped when they spotted him, eyes going wide in twin expressions of surprise. 

“Um.” Steve snorted and Tony elbowed him. “What the hell happened to you?” 

“Your boyfriend,” Sam grumbled, shoving past them because as long as he was here he was going to steal some of those cookies that Tony bulk ordered. 

Steve gaped after him. “My… How…” He started before Tony elbowed him again. “Wait, you mean Bucky? Bucky did this?” 

Sam shot him a look over his shoulder. “Who else would I be talking about?” 

“Right,” Steve agreed, still looking confused. “But why?” 

“How the fuck should I know?” Sam asked. 

“I think he means more ‘how.’” Tony offered. “Was it an ambush? Did you go after him?” 

“Do I look like I got a death wish?” Sam asked with an arched eyebrow. “No, man. I was just walking down the street and all of a sudden I got attacked by a fire hydrant.” 

“A fire hydrant?” Tony repeated incredulously. “That’s… A less than effective means for a murderbot.” 

“No shit,” Sam agreed. “I wouldn’t have even known it was him if he hadn’t stuck around to gloat.” 

He saw Tony mouth a ‘what the fuck’ to himself, before shrugging. “Maybe he’s breaking through more of his brainwashing? Little less murder in the bot?” 

“Don’t call him a murderbot,” Steve told him absently, still frowning like his brain hurt. “Why do I feel like I’ve heard this story before?” 

***

And then there was the bush. 

It had been weeks since the fire hydrant incident, and for all anyone could tell, Barnes had ghosted. No one could track down any sign of him, not Natasha with her super spy skills, not Tony with all his tech and algorithms, and not Steve with his can-do attitude. 

Sam was supposed to be meeting Steve for a late dinner, some tiny, hole-in-the-wall place that Steve swore by. Steve, of course, was running late, and Sam was waiting for him outside (since the last time Steve had been ‘running late’ he’d ended up sitting alone at a table for nearly an hour while the servers gave him pity looks, thinking he’d been stood up). One minute he’d been dicking around on his phone to pass the time, and the next thing he knew there’d been a vice grip around his arm, another around his mouth, and he was being hauled into the alley around the corner. 

(Though if anyone asked, Sam had not been so distracted that he’d let someone get the jump on him, world’s greatest assassin or no.) 

It had taken him a second to catch his bearings after he was practically thrown against the wall and when he looked up there was Bucky, looming over him. Sam could barely make out his face in the shadows and felt his heart start to race. 

“ Hey man,” he said, trying to keep calm. “We gotta stop meeting like this.” 

There was a noise near the front of the alley, and suddenly Bucky was brandishing a knife, holding it threateningly in his hand. Sam tamped down on the reflex to yell; he didn’t know what Bucky’s reaction would be to that, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be good. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that taking him on in wingless hand-to-hand would be anything other than suicidal, so his best bet was to stay calm and try and work some other way out of here. 

And then, while he was still weighing his options, Bucky’s other hand came up. For the briefest of seconds, Sam thought he was holding a dead animal of some kind (it was a scary situation, he could forgive his eyes for playing tricks on him) but when Bucky threw the lump at his feet, it turned out to be some kind of bush. 

“Uhh… What’s this?” he asked before he could stop himself. 

Bucky blinked at him. “Yours,” he replied, voice sounding gruff and unused. “It’s… Yours.” 

“Um.” 

And then, while he was still trying to figure out what that meant, Steve’s voice sounded from the street, calling his name. Sam’s head shot up and before he could think the better of it he was shouting back. 

“Here! I’m down here!” 

Bucky snapped his head to stare at him, eyes wide and wounded before he turned and ran deeper into the alley. In the scant seconds it took Steve to reach him, Bucky had disappeared again. 

“What the fuck are you doing in the alley?” Steve asked before he caught sight of Sam and the look on his face. “Shit. Are you okay?” 

“Uh.” Sam reached down and picked up the bush. “Your friend’s back.” 

Steve stared down at the plant in his hand and some kind of realization cleared across his face. “Oh,” he said, the word coming out on an exhale. “You okay?” 

“I think so,” Sam said, before shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m good.” 

“Okay, good. I think we should go back to the tower. We’ll order in.” 

Steve steered Sam out of the alley with a hand on his lower back, and he didn’t need it but it was reassuring enough that he didn’t tell Steve to knock it off. He also didn’t let go of his plant. 

By the time they made it back to the Tower, Tony and Nat were waiting for them after Steve’s frantic texts, and Sam was feeling a little less shaken. 

“Did he just…” He shook his head as the elevator deposited them on the common floor. “Sorry, man. I thought he was gonna kill me, but he just brought me a bush.” 

Tony looked at Sam like he was a fucking idiot. “D’you mean a plant? Like a bouquet but manly? You know, to match his… Murderlicious aura?” 

Sam gave him a withering glare. “I know you don’t know me that well yet, but I’m not an idiot, Stark. It’s a goddamn bush,” he explained, holding up the bush in question. He could feel his ears heat with suppressed frustration. 

And it was a goddamn bush. He felt a small modicum of satisfaction when Stark’s eyes widened as he took in the root structure, the clumps of dirt falling and breaking all over his precious floor. Sam was half expecting a reprimand, even had a snarky response ready, but Tony wasn’t even looking at him. He only had eyes for Steve, which Sam figured wasn’t anything new. 

“Steve, oh my god.”

Steve sighed heavily, rubbing at the back of his neck. “So you see it too, then?” 

“Oh my god,” Stark repeated.

Sam finally put the bush down, since it seemed nobody was about to yell at him for dragging it in here. He felt weirdly reluctant to set it aside, even though it was heavy. “What?” he asked, resigned. 

“Sam, don’t freak out,” Steve started, and Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Steve either didn’t notice or didn’t care, moving forward to take Sam’s shoulders in both of his big hands. Sam would have laughed at him for being so cheesy, if not for the painfully earnest look on his face. “I think… I think the Winter Soldier has a crush on you.” 

Sam blinked back at him as Natasha, who up until now had been observing their exchange with mild interest, cracked the fuck up, laughing so hard she actually grabbed Tony’s shoulder for support. Sam could feel his ears definitely heating up now, the flush migrating down his neck and back. 

“Like a big crush,” Stark emphasized, spreading his arms wide to demonstrate his point. “Huge.” 

Sam sighed and shook Steve off, rubbing at his forehead. “You all don’t have to sound so thrilled about it,” he grumbled, with a particular glare for Natasha who was still cackling in the background. “Damn.” He sighed and sank onto one of the couches, leaning forward to rub at the tension he could feel building in his neck. He gave a half-hearted kick at the bush, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt that went through him when he did. There was something weirdly endearing about it in a sad sort of way, the tendrils of dirt clinging to the roots. He cleared his throat, feeling weird about the direction his thoughts were taking. “What did the bush do to him anyway, kill his parents?” he asked to cover up his fascination with it. He was pretty sure nobody present was a mind reader, but since he apparently hung out with superheroes now, you couldn’t be too sure (especially Natasha). 

There was a beat and he looked up to see Steve staring at him with wide eyes and Tony looking mostly exasperated. Sam just shrugged, out of fucks to give. 

“Too soon?” he asked Tony, giving him a slightly guilty smile. 

Tony just rolled his eyes. “I can’t decide if I like you, or hate you,” he told him. 

Sam shrugged again. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

That got him a laugh before Tony clapped the still horrified looking Steve on the back. “Relax, Cap. We’ve all moved on. The question now is what to do about this boytoy of yours.” 

“We were never like that, Tony, you know that,” Steve told him with the voice of someone who had said it a thousand times before. 

Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “Who said I was talking to you?” he asked before the two of them turned their gaze back onto Sam. 

“Wait, no, what?” Sam held out his hands, palms up. “He’s not my anything.” 

“You know,” Nat said, apparently finally managing to get ahold of herself. “I hate to say it—,”

“No you don’t,” Tony interrupted, grinning at her. 

Nat shot him a smirk back. “But we could use this to our advantage.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, staring over at her with wide eyes. “We could what now?” 

Nat just rolled her eyes. “Oh, relax. I’m just saying, if Barnes likes you, we could use that to our advantage. Let him come to you, let him start to trust you, and then get him to understand that we’re not here to hurt him, we want to help him.” 

“But it’s demeaning,” Sam protested, wincing at the blank stare that Nat sent his way. “I mean, it’s not… It’s just…” 

This time both she and Tony cracked up, snickering to each other, and Sam shook his head at Steve. “What have you dragged me into, man?” he grumbled. He was working with a bunch of assholes. Steve just shrugged helplessly as Natasha gave a very unladylike snort. 

“Relax, Sam,” she told him again. “Don’t act like you’re the world’s first honeypot. I’d offer to do it myself, but clearly I’m missing a key element or three. And he already likes you, which is half the battle.” 

“No one’s asking you to marry the man, Samwise,” Tony added. “You don’t even gotta put out. Just… Let him know he can trust you and then bring ‘im in when the time is right?” 

“Please, Sam?” Steve added, all hopeful and heart-eyed. It was those eyes that did it, those big, blue Captain America eyes looking so damn eager that Sam found he couldn’t say no.  

“Fine.” Sam sighed, burying his face in his hands against the headache he could feel coming on. “Fine, let’s do this.” He looked up at Steve, narrowing his gaze slightly. “Those eyes of yours are dangerous, man.” 

“Tell me about it,” Tony sighed. 

***

The problem was, Bucky may have liked him but Sam still had no idea how to track him down. He was likely tracking them -- three different encounters seemed like too many to just be a coincidence -- but Sam had no idea what would trigger Bucky to actually show up.

Natasha had been worried that if he showed too much a pattern then Bucky might get suspicious and take off, and Tony had started working on a code that would create an algorithm for when and where Sam should go, and Steve had wanted to create a list of everywhere he might be so that he could scope out hidden spots to watch from ‘just in case’ (Sam wasn’t sure if the ‘just in case was for himself or Barnes). 

Sam had ignored them all, and taken to sitting at the same bench in the same, relatively quiet part of Central Park at the same time every morning (weather permitting), holding two cups of coffee. Surprisingly, it had only taken eight days before a shadow had loomed over him and Sam had looked up to find Barnes staring down at him. 

“Hey man,” he said, hoping the supersoldier super senses didn’t extend to hearing the way his heartbeat still insisted on doubling up at the sight of him. He extended the hand holding the coffee cup that he hadn’t been drinking from. “Coffee?” 

Bucky blinked down at him, and it was hard to tell when he had that resting murder face, but Sam was pretty sure that was the look of an assassin who was taken aback. There was a long moment where they just stared at each other and then, slowly, Bucky reached out and took the coffee from Sam’s hand. An even longer moment, and then Bucky sat down beside him, leaving a careful amount of space between them. 

“It’s just black,” Sam told him, more for something to say than because he thought Bucky would actually care. “I didn’t know how you took it.” And then, after another long moment of silence, “Steve’s not coming, by the way. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Tony does, or well, Tony’s ceiling robot does, because I’m not an idiot, so you know. Don’t try anything, I guess? But Steve’s not coming, so you can relax or whatever.” 

He chanced a glance over at Bucky. He was staring straight ahead, face revealing nothing, but Sam thought his shoulders were just a fraction less stiff than they had been. 

“So everyone seems to think you have a thing for me,” Sam said. “That’s cool man, but we’ve gotta talk about your flirting skills. Are you secretly in the second grade? I didn’t have pigtails to pull, so you had to sic me with a fire hydrant instead? Anyway, that kind of aggressive technique isn’t really the done thing anymore. Toxic masculinity is a thing, my man. Can’t be afraid to show your feelings, you know?” 

There was a beat of silence and then Sam yelped as Bucky reached out and shoved him off the bench, knocking him to the ground and spilling the remnants of his coffee all over himself. 

He wasn’t hurt, beyond his pride, and Sam had to admire that a little. He was under no misconceptions that Bucky couldn’t have seriously injured him if he’d wanted. Still, he took his time rolling over only to find that Bucky had immediately manspreaded over the entire damn bench, taking up all the room he had without Sam beside him. “Asshole,” Sam grumbled, giving him a flat stare.

 Bucky seemed unphased, taking a long swallow of his coffee before getting to his feet. “Sugar,” he told Sam, the only word he’d spoken at all. He stared down at him a minute before he tossed his coffee cup in the trash can and walked away. 

It was barely there, but Sam could just see the barely hint of a smirk on Bucky’s face. “Yeah,” he sighed, picking himself up off the muddy ground. “This’ll work.” 

***

He was waiting when Bucky showed up three days later, two cups of coffee in hand once more. He didn’t offer him one this time, just held his hand out, but Bucky took it anyway and sat down on the bench beside him. He waited, taking a slow sip of his own coffee, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Bucky took a sip of his own and then stilled, face neutral. 

“Hey man, you said you liked sugar. I figured more is less. That’s the saying, right?” 

Bucky turned to face him, and though it was one of the more terrifying experiences in his life, Sam met his gaze head on. “How much?” Bucky asked, voice low, and Sam wasn’t sure if the shivers it sent up his spine were fear or arousal. 

“I don’t know,” he told him casually. “Like twelve packets?” 

Bucky blinked at him exactly once and then, still making eye contact, he knocked back the entire cup in one go. 

Sam sighed and shook his head. “So that’s how it is, huh?” 

Bucky shrugged, and there was that hint of a smirk on his lips again. “Guess so.”

***

They carried on like this for a while, meeting in the same spot week after week. And gradually, Sam started to notice the shift in Bucky. That little, crooked, half-smile appeared more frequently, and for longer. He still wasn’t a talker, but he spoke more at least, responded to Sam’s incessant chattering. Admittedly, it was mostly affirmative grunts and one-word answers, but slow progress was still progress. 

Or at least, that’s what Stark kept insisting. Sam had joined them for movie night, something of a habit of late, but with Bruce at a conference and Nat and Clint on a mission, it had turned into a debrief of the Bucky situation. 

Which had then turned to Steve, well… Sam didn’t like to use the word whining, since it seemed unbecoming for Captain America, but that was pretty much exactly what he was doing, sulking in the corner of the couch with his arms folded across his chest. 

Sam busied himself with a carton of Chinese food, and fought back a snicker when he caught Stark’s eye over top of the cardboard, and Tony gave a truly impressive eye roll. 

“Steve. Steven. Stevarina. Come on, we’ve talked about this,” Tony told him, clearly doing his best to fight back his exasperation. “Your buddy’s spent more than two thirds of his life being brainwashed. He was never just gonna walk it off and waltz back in like nothing happened. It’s gonna be a long haul, and he’ll probably never be completely the guy you grew up with. We talked about all of this, remember?” 

“Ad nauseum,” Steve grumbled, emphasizing his reluctance with a needlessly heavy sigh. Sam hastily turned his laugh into his cough, and then coughed harder when Tony winked at him, lips quirked in a grin of his own. Still, when Tony took a seat beside Steve and offered him a box of chow mein, Steve took it with a mumbled thanks. 

“Look, I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this really is progress,” Tony insisted. “Remember, he’s pretty much on his own. He’s got no support system, no therapist. He’s just working through his trauma by blowing up Hydra bases -- allegedly -- and hanging out with… Sam.”

Sam eyed him and swallowed down a mouthful of noodles. “I feel like I should be offended by that, but usually people just treat me like I am their therapist, so thanks for that.” 

Tony saluted him with his own carton. “Progress,” he insisted. 

“It’s true,” Sam agreed, rubbing at the bruise on his thigh that was leftover from his last exchange with Bucky. “I made a dumbass joke and he made a noise that I think was maybe almost a laugh. Of course then he punched my thigh in retaliation, and I’ve been bruised for the past few days, but I’m pretty sure he could have shattered my femur without even thinking about it, so if he’s thinking about it, I’m calling it a win.” 

He carefully didn’t tell them how he kept rubbing at that bruise because he kinda liked that edge of pain -- and something about the reminder of how goddamn strong and controlled that asshole was was really doing it for him. 

Steve sighed, but he looked a little mollified. “I guess,” he grumbled, although he cracked a smile when Tony tossed a fortune cookie at his head. 

“Look,” Tony told him. “We all know Captain Patience you are not, but we’re getting there babe, I promise.” 

Sam arched an eyebrow at him. “Babe?” 

Tony shrugged. “I call everyone babe. You haven’t noticed?” he asked, like Steve wasn’t blushing up a storm and frantically trying to hide his smile with a faceful of cookie. Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

***

“So.” Sam reached into his jacket pocket and shuffled through the cards he pulled out. “Have you ever been escorted out by security?” 

Bucky turned to look at him with a blank stare. 

“Right, fair point. You’d probably just kill security.” He shuffled through again. “If you could take a selfie anywhere in the world, which location would you choose.” 

When he glanced over, Bucky was still staring at him, a slight furrow in his brow that Sam definitely wasn’t privately thinking of as adorable. There was a slight moment of silence as Bucky blinked at him and then, 

“Kazakhstan.”

“Yeah?” Sam waited, but apparently there was no additional information coming and after a minute Bucky just turned to look back out over the park. “That’s it, man? No further explanation needed?” 

There was a slight shrug from Bucky. “I like the architecture in Astana.” 

Sam sighed. “Of course you do.” 

He shuffled a few more cards, wrinkling his nose at a couple of them. “Oh! If you had to perform at a karaoke bar, which song would you choose?” 

“Okay,” Bucky finally said. “What the fuck are you even reading?” 

It was probably the most words that Bucky had said to him all in one go, and Sam did a little internal victory dance before he flashed the back of the cards at Bucky. “Tabletopics,” he said. “Questions to start great conversations. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Barnes, but you’re kinda terrible at starting conversations, man.” 

Bucky actually almost fully smiled at that, lips twitching, before he twisted his face up like he was in physical pain. “You’re an idiot,” he told Sam, voice gruff. 

Sam shrugged it off, flicking through some more cards since these ‘conversations’ weren’t really going anywhere. There was a mostly comfortable silence and then Bucky spoke again, voice grudging. 

“Call Me Maybe.” 

Sam laughed so hard he accidentally scared off a couple pigeons and this time that was definitely the hint of a smile on Bucky’s lips. 

***

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a complete idiot?” 

Sam turned and grinned wide at Bucky’s dry voice, popping a french fry in his mouth as obnoxiously as possible. He’d had the worst hankering for fries ever since his run with Steve that morning, so he’d grabbed an order along with their regular coffee order. He hadn’t offered any to Bucky, and judging by the way he kept side-eyeing the bag, Bucky was a little put out about that.

“Come on now, handsome,” Sam teased, unable to resist goading him further. “Don’t be like that.” 

He gave Bucky a wink and reached into the bag for another fry only to have Bucky’s hand shoot out faster than he could see and close around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Sam swallowed hard, eyes locked on the metal hand wrapped around his skin. It didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t budge his hand at all, and to be entirely honest, it was making him squirm a little. If you’d asked Sam yesterday if being held immobile was one of his turn ons he would have said no, but apparently yesterday Sam was a moron. His breath caught in his throat and it was another minute before he pulled his gaze away to find Bucky smirking at him. Bucky gave his wrist a tight squeeze before using his free hand to pluck the fry out of Sam’s fingers, popping it in his mouth. 

“Thanks,” he told him. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “There’s that Barnes charm I’ve heard so much about, huh?” he asked, rubbing absently at his wrist. Bucky gave him a nonchalant shrug and Sam couldn’t help grinning grudgingly back. There was still a smirk on Bucky’s lips, but underneath that he looked genuinely pleased and Sam felt something warm settle at the base of his spine in response. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he told him, making a show of looking Bucky up and down, letting his eyes linger over his chest and arms. Bucky rolled his eyes, but Sam could swear he preened a little too, chest puffing out at the attention. 

“Takes one to know one,” Bucky huffed after a moment, eyes carefully focused on the ground in front of the bench. There was a flush crawling up the side of his neck and Sam huffed out a soft laugh before crumpling up the fry bag, tossing it into the trash, and getting to his feet. Immediately Bucky’s head snapped back up. “Where are you going?” he asked, the gruff tone of his voice not quite hiding how disconcerted he was. 

Sam shot him a wide grin. “Well, I’m still starving, so I’m gonna go find some more food. You coming?” He didn’t wait for an answer before heading off down the path and it was a minute before he heard Bucky fall into step just slightly behind him. Bucky had snuck up on him any number of times -- making Sam jump was a favourite pastime that he and Steve apparently had in common -- so the fact that he was making his presence so obviously known said something.

There was a little bistro-cafe place a little further into the park, criminally overpriced because tourism, but they had outdoor seating so that’s where Sam headed. They were in that weird in-between section of the afternoon, so while it was a little more crowded than their usual section of the park, the sign at the entry invited them to seat themselves. It only took Sam a second to scout out a table with its back to the cafe proper and a wide-open view of everything around them, and he made a beeline for it, purposely taking the seat with his back to everyone so Bucky could keep an eye out. 

“This good?” he asked as Bucky slumped clumsily into the chair across from him. Bucky only grunted in response, but there was a little grin around his lips, so he knew exactly what Sam was doing. 

Bucky, the absolute shithead, completely turned on the charm for their server in a way that left Sam a little thrown. He was smiling and making eye contact, and talking to her in that low, gruff voice that somehow came out more seduction than murderbot, and left Sam feeling a little squirmy. The second she’d left again, Sam kicked him under the table, wincing when Bucky kicked him right back, a little bit harder. 

“What the fuck, man?” he demanded. “How come you never talk to me like that?” 

Bucky shrugged, a grin on his face. “Maybe I just don’t like you that much.”

“I’m your goddamn date, asshole.” 

“Are we?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow. He cleared his throat. “On a date?” 

“I mean, we’re in a restaurant, getting a meal together. Where did you think all that time on the bench was going?” 

“Oh.” 

Bucky was smiling down at the table again, looking shy and definitely not adorable, and Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah. Oh. So the least you can do is flirt with me a little.” 

Bucky looked directly at him then, tongue tracing over his lower lip in a way that probably should have been ridiculous but still made Sam feel a little hot under the collar. Then he huffed out a laugh. “Maybe she deserves it more. She’s bringing me food, after all.” 

Sam just huffed at him. “See if I pay for your meal now.” 

Sam had been so caught off guard with Bucky’s flirting that he hadn’t even noticed what Bucky had ordered. So when the $18 artisanal toast (it was literally just toast and jam) and the deconstructed coffee showed up, he couldn’t do anything more than stare for a full minute. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely not paying for your food now. You’re such a dick.” 

Bucky just smiled sweetly at him and shoved his mouth full of toast. 

***

Sam yawned, tilting his head back toward the ceiling as he listened to Steve and Tony bicker over Chinese or Thai for dinner (his choice had been pizza, but he’d been outvoted). 

“Guys,” he shouted at the sky. “Just pick something. I’m starving.”

“Agreed,” Natasha piped up, dropping onto the couch cushion beside him out of nowhere, and making him yelp. 

“Jesus,” he grumbled. “Is sneaking up on people part of your Russian training or something?” 

Natasha just winked at him before glancing over at Steve and Tony again. “Seriously guys. You don’t decide soon and we’re starting movie night without you.”

“Blasphemy,” Tony retorted, pausing long enough to point at her accusingly before turning back to Steve and waxing poetic about pad thai. Sam was pretty sure he’d started out rooting for Chinese. 

Natasha grinned and looked back over at Sam. “So speaking of Russian training…” 

Sam groaned. “Don’t you start. I’ve already got Steve bugging me for hourly updates.” 

She shrugged. “Just wondering how things are going,” she said sweetly before waggling her eyebrows. “You bang him yet?” 

Sam didn’t quite choke on his own spit, but it was a near thing. “You’re shameless,” he told her. “And no. I only just got him to leave the damn bench.” 

“Kinky.”

“I mean that literally,” he told her dryly. “We, uh… I bought him lunch.” 

Her grin grew even wider. “Of course you did. Such a gentleman.” 

“Shut up,” he grumbled, saved from having to defend himself further when his phone buzzed in his lap. Natasha gave him a pointed look. 

“Speak of the devil.” 

Sam rolled his eyes as he opened the messaging app on his phone. “Hardly,” he protested. “We’re not on text level, believe me. He just kinda… shows up. I don’t know if Barnes even has a cell phone…” He trailed off, frowning down at the series of numbers on his screen. “Are these… Coordinates?” 

With apparently no sense of personal space or privacy, Natasha leaned right over his shoulder to peer down at his phone. Sam didn’t bother protesting; she had probably already read his entire chat history in her spare time anyway. “Yup,” she agreed, pointing at the eight digit number that followed. “Date and time too. Sounds like you’ve got a date, hot stuff.” 

“What? Come on, it’s just a random string of numbers. That doesn’t mean it’s Bucky,” he argued, although it did kind of sound exactly like him. Nat was smirking at him and he purposely shifted so she couldn’t read over his shoulder as he typed his response. 

Barnes? That you?

It was only a second for his phone to buzz with a response. Yeah, asshole. Obviously. Who else would be texting you with date info?

It was completely at odds with the cloak and dagger vibe of the first message, and that made Sam’s lips twitch up into a smile. Not very romantic. You’re terrible at asking me out man, you know that?

Who says I’m asking you out? I’m telling you where our next date is gonna be.

Sam snorted at his phone. Oh, that’s how it is? I don’t know, I feel like I’m owed flowers at the very least. Champagne… Chocolate covered strawberries. 

I’m allergic to strawberries.

You’re a supersoldier, dumbass. You’re not allergic to anything. 

Whoops. Caught me.

He was about to type in another response when somebody elbowed him hard in the side, making him jump. He looked up with a start to find Natasha smirking at him again and Steve and Tony apparently done with their argument as they watched him curiously. 

“We’ve decided on sushi,” she told him, saccharine sweet. “If you’d like to place your order.” 

“Who were you texting, Sam?” Steve asked. 

“My realtor,” he grumbled.

***

Sam stepped into the restaurant -- crowded enough to go unnoticed but with plenty of open spaces to keep an eye on everyone -- and blinked when he spotted Bucky waiting for him at a table in the corner. He headed over and slid into the seat. “Hey man. You’re usually more of a fashionably late kinda guy. Didn’t think you’d be here already.” Then he blinked again when he spotted the bouquet of daisies on the table. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “You bought me flowers?” 

“Told you, I’m allergic to strawberries,” Bucky told him. He was going for all nonchalant, but Sam could see that familiar flush on his neck again. 

“Thanks man,” Sam said. “Daisies are my favourite.” 

“Yeah, you seemed like a daisy guy.” 

“I have no idea what that means.” 

“Of course you don’t.” 

It was a minute later that their server brought over the bottle of champagne, and Sam couldn’t stop grinning. 

Bucky was his usual charming self (he cracked two jokes, both of which were solely for the benefit of their server, and then kicked Sam in the shin under the table) but when the cheque came he grabbed it before Sam had the chance, pulling out a wad of cash from one of his pockets to pay for it. Sam arched an eyebrow at him. 

“And you got that money…?” 

Bucky’s lip curled into a smirk that was may more attractive than it had any right to be. “Oh, yeah.”

“Uh huh.” Sam eyed him a minute. “So listen, I don’t know what kind of weird, robocob stuff you usually do to fill up your afternoons…”

“Hunting down and systematically murdering modern-day Nazis,” Bucky supplied without skipping a beat. 

“See, I can’t tell if you’re joking, and I kinda feel like you’re not, and that concerns me. But anyway, if you can take a break from your serial killer stint, do you wanna… Do something? I don’t know, do you even like doing things?” 

Bucky gave him a flat stare. “I like ice cream,” he offered. 

Sam still wasn’t entirely sure if he was serious or still messing with him, but he shrugged anyway. “Let’s go get some ice cream then, hot stuff.” 

It was a sunny day, warm enough that Bucky actually stripped out of his jacket, leaving him in a long-sleeved t-shirt that was clinging to every muscle he had. They ended up walking along the river, and Sam couldn’t help eyeing him as they went, especially ogling his biceps every time he lifted his arm to take a lick of his ice cream. It was at least the fifth time when Bucky ‘caught’ him, looking right back at Sam with a pleased smile flirting around his lips. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam told him loftily. “You know you’re hot.” 

“Yeah, well…” Bucky took a big lick of his ice cream that Sam was pretty sure was intended to make him shiver (it worked). “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

“I’m sorry.” Sam stopped dead in the path, making Bucky roll his eyes. “What was that? Are you admitting that I’m hot? You are totally into me, man. You want alllll of this.” He gestured vaguely at his own chest. “You think I’m sexy, you want to kiss me…” 

Bucky squinted at him. “Is that Miss Congeniality?”

Sam squinted right back. “You know Miss Congeniality? Weren’t you frozen for that?” 

Bucky shrugged. “It was on cable last week.”  

Sam just sighed, shaking his head skyward. “Of course it was.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh but a beat later his entire demeanour had changed, going almost eerily still. Sam blinked at him, a little unsettled by the abrupt change. 

“What?” he asked, looking over at him. “What’s wrong?” 

“Uhh.” Bucky visibly shook himself, but his gaze was caught on something in the distance. Sam followed where he was looking and then felt his heart sink when he spotted Steve further down the path, talking to some kids who had apparently recognized him. 

“Oh,” Sam said. “Shit.” 

Bucky did look over at him then, face twisted in pain. “Help,” he croaked out, voice helpless. 

Without thinking, Sam grabbed his upper arm, turning him down toward a side path. It occurred to him a beat later that yanking on the Winter Soldier without a heads up could turn out very badly, but Bucky didn’t seem upset, just turned and fell into step with Sam. They were out of sight a second later, but Sam could still feel how tense Bucky was so he kept walking. He didn’t stop until they were well away from where Steve had been and until Bucky started to breathe a little easier. He spotted a coffee shop that didn’t look too crowded and nudged Bucky inside, letting him pick out a table while he grabbed them a couple coffees, well-versed in Bucky’s order by now. 

“Hey.” He dropped into the seat opposite Bucky and slid the mug across the table toward him. “You okay?” 

Bucky met his gaze with a rueful expression and then shrugged. “Sorry about the ice cream,” he muttered, voice low. Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Right, because ice cream is what I care about here.” 

Bucky didn’t answer, looking down at the table instead, and Sam drew in a deep breath. 

“Listen, for what it’s worth, I think you would have been okay. You’re doing better, Bucky. You could just try… Talking to him. I mean, hey, you haven’t killed me yet, right?”

Bucky looked back up and tried to force a smile, but his expression was pained. “I… I don’t…” He trailed off, looking frustrated and Sam held his hands up, trying to put him at ease. 

“Hey, it’s okay. If you’re not ready, that’s okay too. You can take as long as you need, man.”

That didn’t seem to make Bucky feel any better. He chewed at the inside of his cheek as he stared somewhere over Sam’s shoulder and then got abruptly to his feet. “I gotta go,” he announced abruptly, glancing down at his untouched cup of coffee. “Thanks.” 

***

Sam couldn’t help feeling like he’d fucked up, and that feeling got worse when Bucky was a no-show for their next park date. He’d tried texting too, worried that this was it, Bucky’d gotten spooked and taken off, but there was no answer there either. When almost an entire week went by without any contact, he knew he was going to have to tell the team. 

He was in his room, trying to work out how on earth he was going to break the news to Steve, when his phone dinged with an alert. Pulling it out, he felt his eyes went wide. News about Bucky temporarily sidelined, he jogged down to the common area where Tony and Steve were already watching the news about a massive factory explosion somewhere in Austria.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed. “Should we… Do we…” 

“Out of jurisdiction,” Steve told him, sounding less concerned than Sam might have expected. 

“Okay…” He narrowed his eyes at him. “What am I missing here?” 

“Weirdest thing,” Steve said dryly, eyes still fixed on the screen. “There were no workers on site. They got an official call that there was a chip shortage, and it’s not like they’re going to pay the workers for not working, so they shut down for the day.” 

Sam frowned. “Why is that weird?” 

“There was no chip shortage,” Tony said. “Higher up who called it in had no idea what was going on when they looked into it.” 

Steve glanced over at him. “Tell him the rest.” 

Tony gave Sam a pointed look. “This factory? Also on the shortlist of highly likely Hydra covers that JARVIS pulled. Nat was supposed to head out next week for recon and confirmation before we called the team in.” 

Sam turned his gaze back to the television. “So someone got all the innocent people out and then destroyed a Hydra base?” He felt his chest do a weird flutter. “Huh.” 

And then, right on cue, his phone buzzed in his hand. He wasn’t even surprised when he pulled it open to find another set of coordinates, a date, and a time. A minute later it buzzed again, this time with an actual message. 

Sorry for going MIA, btw. Had something to take care of. 

Something that starts in H and ends in Nazis? Sam texted back. Honestly I don’t know if I’m more upset about the fact that you took off and did this without any backup, or about the fact that you just used btw. You’re an old man, how do you know text slang? We can’t even get Steve to use actual emojis, just the :) 

He regretted it almost as soon as he hit send, worried that talk of Steve would throw Bucky off again. But the little indicator showed Bucky texting back almost immediately. 

Steve’s trolling you. Dumbass.

And well, that certainly felt like progress. 

***

When Sam looked up the restaurant at the coordinates Bucky had sent him (why he couldn’t give him a name or even an address he wasn’t sure, but he was 99% sure it was just Bucky fucking with him) it looked a little fancier than their usual place. Not Stark Gala fancy, but still. He’d thought about texting Bucky to confirm just how dressy he should be, but didn’t want to stress him out. Instead he opted for dressier pants instead of jeans, and a button down -- though he skipped the tie and wore a leather jacket that he knew made his shoulders look amazing, thank you very much. 

It turned out to be the right choice. Sam actually stumbled a little on his way to the table when he caught sight of Bucky in a blue sweater that made his eyes pop and looked like it was cashmere, the tight fit leaving his biceps looking like he could hold Sam up for hours. (Which he obviously could do, but he didn’t have to go around showing off about it.) If the little twitch on his lips was any indication, he’d caught Sam’s slip, but Sam didn’t let on, just sat in the chair opposite him with a broad grin on his face.

“Nice sweater, Bucky,” he told him. “Who’d you steal it from?”

Bucky just shrugged, unrepentant. “Some asshole on Wall Street,” he answered lazily. Sam genuinely couldn’t tell if he was joking, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t. 

Bread was dropped off at their table and Bucky immediately grabbed the basket before Sam had a chance, dragging it over to his side of the table and picking out the biggest piece. He smirked when Sam rolled his eyes, but a minute later he was sliding it back into his reach. 

“Classy,” Sam told him, but he couldn’t help the fond grin when he said it.

Dinner was quiet, and delicious, and over too fast. Since neither of them were really ready to say goodnight, they went for a walk. Apparently, this was their new habit. Sam kind of liked the idea of them having habits together. 

They skipped the ice cream this time, but it was a pleasant walk all the same, the two of them falling into that same comfortable silence -- right up until it was broken by a violent yawn by Sam. 

Bucky actually snorted before he arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry, am I boring you?” 

“Sorry man.” Sam offered him a slightly sheepish smile. “I need a vacation. We should run away, go to the beach or something.” 

He mostly just talking to talk, but Bucky made a scoffing noise. “You think your baby-sitters will clear that?” 

“Uh…” Sam squinted at him a minute and then shook his head. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to give me more than that. I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Bucky’s expression was dry. “You’re telling me Steve and Stark don’t know exactly where we are right now?” 

Sam stopped dead and eyed him a minute before folding his arms across his chest. “Nah,” he drawled. “Not unless they’re tracking my every move, in which case we’re gonna be having some serious words.” He waited for Bucky’s expression to change, somewhere between startled and confused, before leaning forward again. “Your privacy is important to me. They knew about the park bench meetups, you know, just in case. I haven’t told them about any of our other dates since then, except that we’ve had them. And sometimes not even that.” 

“Oh.” Bucky nodded down at the ground. “Okay then.” He didn’t say anything further, and Sam grinned at him before bumping his shoulder against Bucky’s and starting to walk again. A second later something bumped against his hand, and when he looked up Bucky gave him a soft, almost shy smile before he curled his hand over Sam’s, twining their fingers together. 

***

They carried on like that through the summer. Every few days Sam would get coordinates from Bucky, or sometimes he’d set the date first -- with actual words, like a normal fucking human. And he could practically see Bucky getting better every time they met up. The constant tension that he seemed to carry between his shoulders gradually eased, he smiled and even laughed more, and the pain in his eyes was less, replaced by a spark that Sam could never seem to look away from. Best of all, he seemed to want to get better. He stopped giving Sam side looks like he couldn’t understand why he was spending time with him, and when he’d asked Sam for help finding a supersoldier-approved therapist, Sam had to resist the urge to dance right there, he was so proud (judging by the eye roll and smile that Bucky fought back, he did a terrible job hiding it, but that was neither here nor there). 

And goddamn, once he started feeling human again, Bucky was gorgeous. Obviously he’d always been attractive, Sam wasn’t blind. But just that little bit of confidence he’d regained was doing things to him. He didn’t know if it was the way Bucky carried himself now, drawing attention to those thighs, or that smirk that he was always throwing Sam’s way, or C, all of the above, but his thoughts about Bucky had taken a turn toward the filthy. 

And he was pretty sure he wasn’t alone in that. Sam hadn’t wanted to push, though he’d made no attempt to hide it every time he ogled Bucky. Bucky took his hand almost every time they went for a walk, and sometimes even while they ate. Sam had thought it was sweet at first, it was sweet at first. But then Bucky had started playing with his hands and fingers while they walked, stroking his thumb over Sam’s palm. Sam was hardly a prude, but the way he did it was nothing short of obscene, sending shivers up Sam’s spine. Then, a couple weeks ago, Bucky had started playing fucking footsie with him under the table, working the toes of his of feet up under the leg of Sam’s pants to stroke over his calf. And after their last date, he’d patted Sam on the thigh as they were leaving the table, and his hand had ended up too high to be anything less than an invitation.

So when it was his turn to pick the date again, he’d switched it up. Instead of a dinner, or another walk, he’d brought Bucky to a dance hall instead. And while he still hadn’t convinced Bucky to actually get up on the dance floor, he wouldn’t say it wasn’t a success. They were tucked up in a table in the corner, Bucky watching the dancers with that befuddled look that Sam was a little in love with, the two of them tucked up so close that Bucky’s thigh was pressed all along his, thick and warm, and he could practically feel Bucky’s voice rumbling through him every time he leaned in to speak. 

“What?” Sam asked, elbowing him in the side. “You don’t like dancing?”

Bucky looked startled for a moment before he grinned at Sam. “I love dancing,” he told him, turning his gaze back to the dance floor, that little furrow appearing between his eyebrows again. “I just don’t remember it being quite like this.” He tilted his head, watching a couple grind up against each other a few feet away, and Sam laughed. 

“Tell you what, I’ll go see if the DJ has any big band in his album. Get us a couple more drinks while I’m at it, see if that can’t give you the courage to get up there.” 

Bucky arched an eyebrow at him. “You know I can’t get drunk, right?” 

Sam just shrugged and winked, still grinning, and when he got up to slide past Bucky, that vibranium hand came up against his back, steadying, before sliding purposefully lower, palming Sam’s ass and then giving him a squeeze that made heat furl in Sam’s stomach. It was too obvious to be anything other than deliberate, but Sam looked over his shoulder anyway. Bucky wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it, watching him with a heated gaze that had Sam adjusting himself as he walked away. 

Apparently Bucky had already made up his mind, because when Sam came back with the two bottles, Bucky knocked his back in one go before getting to his feet and immediately pulling Sam up after him. “Okay, come on. Let’s go.” 

“Hey, I only had one swallow,” Sam protested, because Bucky would expect nothing less. “Don’t you know anything about clubbing? Can’t leave your drinks unattended, Buck. They might get drugged.” 

Bucky just rolled his eyes at him and curled his hand around Sam’s wrist, fingertips like spots of fire on his skin as he dragged him out onto the dance floor. Sam had been expecting to have to lead, but as soon as Bucky had claimed their spot, his hands were curling over Sam’s hips, dragging him in close and then moving with him in perfect rhythm.

“Christ.” Sam couldn’t help the way he choked as Bucky’s thigh pressed between his. “When’d you learn to do that?” 

Bucky shrugged, that damn smirk back on his lips. “Told you, I love dancing.” 

“Yeah?” Sam eyed him, but Bucky seemed genuine, and while his sudden dancing ability had taken Sam by surprise, it wasn’t like he could let him win. He let his palms press against Bucky’s back, sliding down the length of his spine, and when there was no hesitation he let his palms shift lower, gripping Bucky’s ass and pulling him in closer until there was no space at all between them. 

He had to give Bucky credit; the man had amazing rhythm. He kept up with every motion that Sam made, the two of them rocking together. He was hyper aware of Bucky’s body, the hot press of his chest against Sam’s through his thin t-shirt, the spicy scent of his cologne mixed with something that was just Bucky. They shifted slightly and then his thigh was grinding right up against Bucky’s cock, thick in his pants. Bucky bit back a moan, his hands squeezing over Sam’s waist as his head shifted forward, breathing thick and raspy in Sam’s ear. 

“Christ, Buck,” Sam muttered, grinding up against him harder as the beat of the music changed. 

Bucky lifted his head again to meet Sam’s gaze. His face was flushed but he was grinning and Sam really wanted to kiss him. His tongue flicked out against his lower lip, unconscious, and immediately Bucky’s eyes zeroed in on the motion. Sam hesitated just a second, but then Bucky twisted his hips in a way that had Sam’s vision going white and Bucky pressing his forehead against Sam’s neck and the moment to kiss him was gone. 

They made it through three more songs before Sam had to admit defeat and request a breather. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, breath coming fast, and his cock was a half hard distraction every time he moved. He squeezed his hands against Bucky’s waist and then leaned in close; he knew Bucky would be able to hear him over the music regardless, but couldn’t resist the temptation of how good the man smelled. 

“Hey, come on,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “I need some fresh air.” 

Bucky grinned like he’d won, but he refrained from commenting as he let Sam lead them off the dance floor and then down a hall, slipping out a side door and into the night air. It was warm out, but after the hot, heavy air of the club, it was still enough to be refreshing. Sam paused a moment outside the door, leaning back against the concrete wall and trying to calm his racing heart. He let his eyes fall shut for a moment, distantly aware of Bucky beside him. 

When he cracked his eyes back open, Bucky was standing just a step too close. Sam’s posture gave Bucky a height advantage, and he was looking down at Sam with heavy eyes. Sam swallowed hard, acutely aware of the way his heart rate ratcheted back up, and the fact that Bucky could probably tell. 

“Shit,” he said, trying not to sound so out of breath. “Haven’t danced like that in awhile. You having a good time?” 

Bucky nodded mutely, and he was grinning but his gaze dropped to Sam’s lips. Sam couldn’t seem to look away from that expression, and as he stared Bucky’s hand came out, curling over his hip in a mirror of their actions in the club. He tugged enough to slip long fingers under Sam’s t-shirt, thumb stroking over the cut of his hip and Sam cursed under his breath when his hips shifted unwittingly into the barely-there touch. That was enough for Bucky to meet his eyes again, his own wide open and wanting, and without thinking Sam pushed off the wall, curling an arm around Bucky’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. 

The reaction was instantaneous. Bucky shoved him up against the wall, hard enough that Sam grunted, and kissed him back rough and needy, teeth nicking over Sam’s lip and making his toes curl in his shoes. Bucky’s hands gripped his waist hard enough to bruise, keeping him pinned against the wall, and Sam felt him shudder when he scratched blunt nails over the back of Bucky’s neck. 

As quickly as it had started, it was over, Bucky pulling back slightly before freezing completely, expression unreadable. Sam shifted them enough that he could take half a step back, not wanting Bucky to feel trapped, and held his hands up soothingly. 

“Hey man, I’m sorry. Should haven’t done that without asking. You okay?” 

“We need to get off the street. Now,” was all Bucky said, and Sam resisted the urge to wince -- or kick himself. That wasn’t exactly a resounding ‘yes.’ 

“Yeah, of course,” he said instead. “Whatever you need. Um…” He looked around, trying to think where they could go, but then Bucky had a tight grip on his wrist and was pulling him down the alley. 

“Come on, I gotta place.” 

He didn’t let go of Sam’s wrist as they hurried down the street at a pace just short of frantic. Sam was still a little confused, worried he’d pushed Bucky too far or too fast. But at least he hadn't taken off, was keeping Sam close, so that had to be a positive sign. It was less than a block before Bucky’s hand slipped down to curl over Sam’s instead, fingers tangling, but he still didn't speak and it was a long few minutes before he pulled Sam into a building and up the stairs.

Sam blinked as they walked into an apartment, sparsely decorated but in an oddly cozy kind of way. It definitely felt lived in, and Sam stilled as he took a second look at everything. “Wait, is this your place?”

It was all he got out before Bucky’s hold on his hand tightened, pulling him in. “God,” he muttered, pushing Sam against the wall and kissing at his neck. His right hand was still pinning Sam’s wrist, but the other was running up and down over Sam’s side, pulling at his t-shirt until he could ruck his hand up underneath, dragging cold metal fingertips over his skin to leave Sam gasping and twitching. 

“You, um…” Sam swallowed, doing his best to ignore the way his cock was firming up fast in his jeans. “You okay, man? We booked it out of there fast.” 

But Bucky just huffed out a laugh. He scraped his teeth over Sam’s shoulder before lifting his head to meet Sam’s eyes, his own looking dazed. “I can’t remember the last time I wanted,” he breathed, rutting against Sam’s hip like he fully intended to come that way. Sam wasn’t exactly opposed, but his knees were feeling a little weak and collapsing wasn’t on the list of things he wanted to do tonight. 

“Hey, I got you,” he told Bucky, stroking his fingers over the back of his neck and then having to swallow hard at the way Bucky shivered and clutched at him in response, burying his face against Sam’s neck and sucking a bruise into his collarbone. “You got a bed around here?” 

Bucky whined into his neck, loathe to let him move, and seeing him all soft and open like this was doing things to Sam. He laughed though, flexing the wrist that was still pinned in Bucky’s grasp. 

“Come on, man. My arm’s falling asleep.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky finally lifted his head, gave Sam a wide grin. “Yeah, come on.” 

Bucky’s ‘bed’ was little more than a mattress on the floor, but Sam didn’t comment, just sank down to sit on the edge, leaving Bucky staring down at him with a hungry expression. 

“Look at you,” Sam hummed, shifting forward to run his hands up the outside of Bucky’s legs. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he told him bluntly, leaning in further still to mouth at his cock through the jeans he was still wearing. Bucky choked, body curling forward around Sam as his hands scratched over his head.

“That’s… Fuck,” he mumbled, hips rocking minutely. “Sam.”

His voice was rough and hoarse, pitched low, and Sam shivered a little. He’d never heard his name spoken in quite that tone, and it was really working for him. “Yeah?” he asked, reaching down to squeeze himself quickly through his pants. “What do you want, baby?” 

“I… I’m…” Bucky scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking completely overwhelmed, and Sam huffed out a quiet laugh. 

“C’mere,” he hummed, curling his hands around Bucky’s hips and yanking. Bucky made a frankly hilarious sound as he tumbled to the mattress, catching himself on his elbows before he squashed Sam completely. Sam laughed at him, reaching up to rub at the back of Bucky’s neck. “There you are,” he purred, spreading his legs a little wider to let Bucky settle more comfortably between his hips. 

“Such an asshole,” Bucky grumbled, but he melted at Sam’s touch. His face pressed into Sam’s neck, kissing and biting at his skin until he teased a groan out of him. Bucky ground his hips down at the sound, panting at the sensation. “Shit, Sam,” he muttered. “I just… I want you so bad.” 

“Yeah?” Sam wanted to make fun of him, but his own heart was racing. “Me too,” he said, tugging at the hem of Bucky’s shirt. “Come on, man,” he grumbled, tugging and pulling to yank it up over his back. “At least let me see you naked first.” 

Bucky huffed, like it was the most demanding thing anyone had ever requested of him, but he pulled back far enough that Sam could haul the fabric over his head. He took a minute to just admire once it was gone, letting his hand trace down between Bucky’s pecs. 

“Christ, look at you,” he breathed before flicking his eyes up to meet Bucky’s. “The serum really did a number on you, huh?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a pleased glimmer to his eyes. “Are you implying that I wouldn’t look like this on my own?” He didn’t wait for Sam to answer, instead gripping Sam’s own t-shirt in his fists in tearing it in two with apparently no effort at all. 

It took a couple tries for Sam to swallow around his suddenly dry throat. “Jesus,” he muttered, doing his best to pretend that wasn’t turning every crank he had. “Thought we talked about the toxic masculinity thing.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes again, smirking down at Sam. “You like it,” he drawled, leaning forward to kiss Sam, heavy and hard, pulling at Sam’s lip with his teeth. Sam groaned into his mouth, sliding his hands down to grip at Bucky’s ass. He squeezed and Bucky made a low, wanting sound, nipping harder at Sam’s lip. Sam squirmed around enough to get a leg between Bucky’s, grinning at the gasping sound he made at the shift in pressure, and pulled away to nip at his earlobe instead. 

“Come on baby,” he purred into Bucky’s ear, only half hamming it up. “Let me blow you?” 

A punched out sound slipped past Bucky’s lips and he ground down hard against Sam’s thigh before lifting his head enough to nod at him, looking a little dazed. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, fuck. Please.” 

Sam grinned back at him. “Look at you,” he teased. “So polite.” Bucky looked like he was going to protest, but Sam gave him a push instead. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that that would actually be enough to shift Bucky, but he went anyway, flipping over onto his back and looking up at Sam with wanting eyes. “Fuck,” Sam muttered, sprawling on top of him and wrestling with the fly of his jeans. “You’re killing me here, asshole.” 

Bucky huffed out a laugh, the sound turning into a sharp hiss through his teeth when Sam’s mouth closed around his nipple, tongue flicking at the sensitive skin. “Could -- shit, Sam -- could say the same.” His hands moved to Sam’s shoulders, dragging paths over his warm skin and Sam grinned as he kissed his way down his chest, shoving at Bucky’s pants as he went. 

Bucky’s pants were tight enough that Sam couldn’t quite get them off and he pulled back with a reluctant sigh, sitting up enough to get his hands on them properly. Bucky whined softly under his breath and helpfully arched his hips, wiggling around as Sam tugged his pants down over his thighs. It took a second -- Bucky wasn’t as helpful as he thought he was -- but then his cock was finally springing free, hard and heavy and weeping at the tip. 

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, hips arching up again at the rush of cool air on his skin. “Oh, shit.” 

Sam echoed the sentiment, staring down at him and swallowing hard. “I could say the same,” he said, voice coming out low and rough. He swallowed again. “Christ, Bucky. Where’ve you been hiding that thing?” 

Bucky groaned loudly in response, head rubbing over the pillow. “Sam,” he bit out, an edge of desperation to his voice that had heart flaring in Sam’s belly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam soothed him, lowering down again. “I got you, baby.” He curled his hand around Bucky’s length, staring a moment longer as Bucky twitched in his grip, and then closed his lips around the head, flicking his tongue against the tip of him. 

“Ah -- fuck!” Bucky keened at the touch, his hips making an abortive jerk, like he wanted to thrust in but was holding himself back. The idea of Bucky losing control like that made Sam shiver and he hummed, swallowing him a little deeper. Bucky choked back a groan, his left hand moving up to stifle the sound and Sam grinned around him before pulling back with a purposely obscene pop. 

“Come on, handsome,” he teased, winking up at Bucky. “Don’t go all strong and silent on me now. I wanna hear you.” 

Bucky glowered at him -- he managed to look awfully annoyed for someone getting head -- but Sam didn’t let him respond. He squeezed his hand around the base of Bucky’s cock and closed his mouth around him again, swallowing him deeper this time until his lips were brushing against his own fingers. Bucky was more than a mouthful, but Sam still managed to flick his tongue as worked, his own cock twitching when Bucky’s thighs tensed and another loud moan slipped past his lips.

“Sam,” Bucky choked, his hips rocking up against him.  His fingers twitched over the back of Sam’s head. “Sam, fuck. Your fucking mouth.” 

Sam grinned around him again, preening a little at the praise, and flexed his hand, squeezing Bucky and swallowing him down further. He’d always loved giving head, and he lost himself in it a little, the rhythm and motion and weight of Bucky in his mouth. His own cock was thick and heavy, aching for touch, but he ignored it for now, focusing on the man before him. Bucky had taken his words to heart apparently, cursing and groaning and breathing Sam’s name like a lifeline, and it was sending little thrills of heat through Sam. 

He didn’t even notice Bucky tensing further, the way his heels were digging into the mattress, until the tone of Bucky’s pleas suddenly changed.

“Shit, shit, Sam -- I’m…” 

His hand squeezed hard against Sam’s shoulder, and the feeling went directly to his own cock. He couldn’t help the way he groaned around Bucky in response and a beat later Bucky was cursing as he came down Sam’s throat, back arching off the mattress.

Sam pulled back, coughing a little, and stared down at him. Bucky was splayed out, prone on the mattress, damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead and a sheen on his chest as he panted. He was grinning up at the ceiling, a dazed, pleased expression on his face, and it was one of the best sights Sam had ever seen. 

“Jesus, Bucky,” he muttered, scrambling to get his jeans unfastened and shoved down. He groaned as he curled a hand around himself, rocking up into his own grip. “That was… Fuck.”

Bucky rolled his head enough to grin at Sam, and his eyes darkened again when he saw him jerking off. “No, no, come on,” he protested, pushing himself up on his elbows, knees bending to frame Sam’s hips. “I’m good, keep going.” 

Sam leaned back on his own knees, slowing down the motion of his hand as he arched an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?” he teased. “Sure you don’t need a minute?” 

Bucky huffed. “I look like I need a minute?” he asked. He slid his hand down his lower abdomen, pulling Sam’s attention, and Sam swallowed hard when he realized that Bucky was already -- still? -- hard. 

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice suddenly dry, and ignored Bucky’s knowing smirk in favour of leaning forward to press him into the mattress again. “Shit,” he muttered, curling a hand around the two of them. “God, that’s hot.” 

Bucky snorted, the sound shifting into a groan when Sam’s calloused fingers dragged over him just right. “Yeah Sam, god. Just like that. Want you to fuck me, come on.” 

Sam stilled at that, ignoring Bucky’s whine of protest. “Wait, what?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful, flinging his head back against the pillow in frustration. “I’m sorry, what part of that was unclear?” He gave Sam a look like he was stupid. “I. Want you. To fuck me.” 

“Alright, smartass.” Sam did his best to glare at him, but it was hard when Bucky was sprawled beneath him, cock thick and hard between his legs and expression still a little dopey from his first orgasm. “Just trying to make sure you’re comfortable. Figured you’d wanna top, be in control. Especially the first time.” 

Bucky’s eyes went wide before he laughed, loud and bright. Sam had gotten snorts and chuckles out of him before but never a laugh like this, and it made him feel warm inside in ways that had nothing to do with impending orgasms. 

“Fine, sure,” Sam huffed, though he was grinning too. “Laugh at me. I see how it is.” 

Buck just gave him a wolfish grin. “The fact that you think this is my first time is adorable.”

“I didn’t say your first time,” Sam grumbled. “I meant us. You and me, together.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky told him before reaching up and curling a hand around the back of Sam’s neck, yanking him down to sprawl out on top of him. He kissed Sam hard, rocking up against him and Sam made a punched out noise when their cocks lined up, grinding against each other. “Yeah,” Bucky groaned, grinning against Sam’s lips. “I’m good, I’m fine, I promise.” He pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “I want it.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, recalibrating, and then lost himself in the smooth expanse of skin beneath him. “God you’re distracting,” he muttered. “Okay. You got any lube?” 

He could have sworn there was a hint of a blush on Bucky’s cheeks as he pulled an arm away from him, reaching overhead and rooting around beside the mattress for a moment. There was definitely a flush when the bottle he passed over to Sam was more than half empty, but he was smiling too, lower lip caught between his teeth. Sam shook the bottle slightly, waggling his eyebrows at him. 

“You want me to do the honours, or do you want to take of things yourself.” 

“You,” Bucky said, just a little too quickly. He cleared his throat as he caught himself. “Uh, if that’s good with you.”

“Oh yeah,” Sam drawled, giving him a quick kiss before he pulled back and snapped open the cap on the lube. “Such a hardship.” 

Bucky huffed, looking like he was going to protest, but before he could Sam smacked his hip, catching the side of his ass for good measure. “Come on, hot stuff. Roll over.” He got some grumbling, like Bucky’s cock didn’t twitch at the command, but he shifted over until he was on all fours, the muscles of his back and shoulders standing out in sharp relief as he braced himself. 

“I like it better face to face,” Bucky protested, not actually sounding that put out about it. 

“And I like it better when I can see what I’m doing,” Sam retorted, offsetting the comment by stretching out over Bucky and pressing a soothing kiss to the back of his neck. “We’ll get there, baby,” he promised, noting the way Bucky shivered at the low tone of his voice. 

Now that he had him here, Sam couldn’t resist teasing a little, kissing over his shoulders and spine, nipping at the taut muscle, running calloused fingers up his sides until Bucky’s arms were shaking with want. He didn’t protest, just rocked back into Sam and shivered and moaned when Sam told him how good he was. 

“Christ, look at you,” Sam breathed, kissing down his spine. “Could stay here all day.” 

Bucky whined through his teeth at that, and when he spoke his voice was rough and out of breath. “I’d really… rather you didn’t,” he huffed, words interspersed with soft little wanting noises, and Sam smiled into his skin. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” he promised. He pulled back again, fully intending to make good on his promise and prep Bucky so he could finally get in him. But the man was a sight before him, still on all fours, head hanging low and ass up and on display just for Sam. Sam had always been an ass man and would happily admit to having checked out Bucky’s at every possible opportunity. But it hadn’t quite prepared him for just how delectable it would be, having Bucky all laid out for him like this. “Fuck,” he breathed out, all in a rush of air. He reached out, giving Bucky’s ass a squeeze and Bucky jolted in response. 

“Sam,” he bit out through gritted teeth. 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam told him. “Just let me…” 

It hadn’t been his original plan, but Sam was nothing if not adaptable. He shifted a little further back on the bed and then dove in, licking a long stripe up the cleft of Bucky’s ass, hands squeezing at his skin. Bucky jerked like he’d been electrocuted, a garbled noise slipping past his lips. 

“This okay?” Sam asked, confident enough in the answer that he did it again before Bucky had a chance to respond. 

“Yes, yes, fuck,” Bucky bit out, squirming beneath him and pressing back against his mouth. “Oh fuck, please.” 

Sam grinned and traced his tongue over the rim of Bucky’s hole, feeling the way he shuddered beneath him. He pressed in closer and took his time suckling at the sensitive skin, adding the perfect drag of teeth every once in a while just to keep him guessing. Bucky was keening with every flick of his tongue, hips rocking frantically back against him, trying to push Sam closer. His arms collapsed, face pressed into the pillow, but Sam just squeezed his ass harder, working him open with his lips and tongue until he could press in even deeper. 

When Bucky’s hole was loose and fluttery around his tongue Sam pulled back a little, blowing cool air across the skin. Bucky practically sobbed into the pillow in pleasure and Sam grinned, squirting too much lube onto his hand before he dove back in, this time slipping a finger inside too. Bucky sounded like he was dying in the best way, kept pleading for more, and Sam gave it to him, working two and then three fingers inside him, stretching him open and licking around them until Bucky was loose and sloppy and more than ready for him. 

He pulled back then, laughing at Bucky’s whine of protest, and smacked his ass just to watch it bounce. “Hey, come on man. Roll over. You’re the one who wanted face to face.” 

It seemed to take a second for the words to process, but then Bucky was shifting up onto all fours, movements clumsy and graceless, and flopping onto his back. He blinked up at Sam with a dazed expression, and Sam arched an eyebrow at him. 

“You come again?” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky told him lazily, voice low and face open and happy. “Maybe.” 

Sam snorted. “You still want me to fuck you?” 

“God yes,” Bucky said immediately, spreading his legs and canting his hips up. 

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, quickly shifting into position. “God, look at you. C’mere.” 

He didn’t waste anymore time before lining himself up and pressing in. Bucky was all tight, slick heat and Sam groaned as he slipped past his rim, the pressure around his aching cock almost too much. Bucky was moaning though, soft little pleases slipping out on every other breath, and Sam only paused a moment before pressing in further, not stopping until he was buried balls deep. 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky gasped when he finally stopped, hands running aimlessly over Sam’s back. “Oh fuck just… Wait a second.” 

Sam nodded sharply, ignoring the way his dick was throbbing, body telling him to move. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky laughed. “Just don’t move. I’m gonna come if you move. Just… Need a sec.” 

Sam squeezed his eyes tightly shut, balls throbbing. “Jesus, Buck,” he muttered, resting his forehead against Bucky’s chest. “You’re gonna kill me.”

It was another minute before Bucky finally gave him the go-ahead and Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. Feeling a little out of his mind with pleasure, he fucked into Bucky hard and fast, the noises Bucky made in response only ratcheting him up higher. Bucky was clutching at his hips, squirming around beneath him, and Sam got a grip on his legs, bending him in half until he was dragging over his prostate with every single thrust. Bucky shouted at the shift, metal hand reaching over his head to clutch at the mattress until he tore it. Sam was starting to see why he didn’t have a headboard. 

“Oh shit,” Bucky panting, arching his hips a little higher, letting Sam slip a little deeper. “Right there, fuck. I’m gonna, I’m gonna…” 

Sam nodded, dropping his head to kiss him, open-mouthed and panting and more sharing air than anything. “Yeah,” he gasped, feeling his own balls draw up tight as he struggled to hold on just a little longer. He wormed a hand between them. “Come on baby, come for me.” He managed to half curl his hand around Bucky’s cock, the angle awkward, and his grip not tight enough, but a beat later Bucky’s back was arching, body tensing as he spilled over Sam’s fingers. 

He grew impossibly tighter and Sam let go of his dick, bracing his hands on the mattress instead and managing only two, three more thrusts before he was burying himself deep and coming with a low groan. 

They stayed like that for a long minute, Sam splayed over top of Bucky, the room filled with the sound of their panting as they tried to get their breathing back under control. Then Bucky shoved unceremoniously at Sam’s side. 

“Get off, man,” he grumbled, a grin in his voice. “You’re heavy.” 

Sam sighed but shifted off of Bucky, sprawling out beside him instead. “The hell kind of thank you is that?” 

Bucky just rolled his eyes, shifting onto his side to look at Sam, and then scrunched his face up. “God, I am like… Just covered in come,” he grumbled, making Sam snort. 

“Charming,” he teased, and Bucky glowered at him, before leaning in and giving Sam a quick, soft kiss. 

“Be right back,” he hummed, rolling easily to his feet and padding to the bathroom like he hadn’t just been fucked within an inch of his life. Sam wasn’t jealous. Really.

He dozed a little, listening to Bucky move around in the bathroom, then jolted awake when a cool cloth was dumped unceremoniously on his bare belly. “Thanks,” he grumbled, giving himself a cursory clean up (he’d avoided the worst of Bucky’s mess) as Bucky smirked at him. 

Bucky tossed the cloth back in the bathroom when he was done, flopping back down on the mattress beside him. He looked sideways over at Sam, not quite meeting his eyes. “You, uh… You staying?” he asked, sounding just a little nervous, and Sam snorted. 

“Well, I’d have to remember how my legs worked to be able to leave, so… Yeah. I’m sticking around. That okay?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky did meet his eyes then, grinning. “Yeah, that’s great.” He leaned over to turn off the light and shifted around a little and then they were pressed close, Bucky’s head tucked against Sam’s chest. Sam curled his arm around Bucky’s back, pretending not to notice his soft, pleased sigh at the motion. 

They lay in silence for a few easy minutes until Sam couldn’t stand it any longer and nudged his hip against Bucky’s side. “Man. You really came in like five seconds flat, huh?” 

Bucky sighed like Sam was the biggest battle he’d ever had to overcome. “Fuck off. It’s been seventy goddamn years,” he told him, rolling his eyes at Sam’s laughter. “Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining.” 

“No,” Sam agreed, grinning when Bucky’s hand came up to tangle with his. “No I was not.” He hummed for a minute. “Hey, you should know, I kept that bush you gave me.” 

“The…” Bucky rolled to squint at him. “The what?” 

“The bush. Way back when? You cornered me in an alley and threw a bush at me and then took off?” 

“Oh.” Bucky looked embarrassed, but he laughed softly. “That.”

“Yeah, that. I kept it. Nat’s got a little vegetable garden on the roof. She let me have a patch of dirt and I replanted it. She’s thriving. I named her Rita.” 

Bucky snorted, embarrassment fading. “Why?”

“Why did I name her Rita?” Sam shrugged and stifled a yawn. “I don’t know man, I guess I was doing some kind of 40s homage to you. It seemed to suit her anyway.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I meant why did you keep it?” 

“Oh.” Sam grinned at him then, bumping his shoulder against Bucky’s. “Guess I kinda liked you.” 

They fell into easy, comfortable silence. It was late enough that it was early again, the sky outside the bedroom lightening into the soft grey of pre-dawn, and Sam could feel himself drifting, lulled by the regular rhythm of Bucky’s breathing beside him. He was almost asleep when Bucky spoke again. 

“Hey, Sam?” 

There was something in his voice that made Sam shift to face him, finding Bucky’s eyes gleaming in the early morning light. “Yeah?” 

Bucky drew in a deep breath, and his smile was nervous, but happy. “I think I’m ready to see Steve.” 

*** One Week Later ***

Sam let the sounds of his teammates eating wash over him, glancing over at the clock at the stove and trying not to let his anticipation show. Saturday morning Avengers brunch wasn’t anything official, but nine times out of ten everyone would find their way into the common room after training and all-nighters and the dreaded weekend meeting, and it seemed as good a time as any for this. He and Bucky had gone over it over and over again, if it was best for him to see everyone at once, if he wouldn’t rather be on neutral territory, but Bucky had decided he was ready, and Sam was ready to support him in whatever he chose to do. 

The clock on the stove flicked over to the hour and right on cue Sam heard the faint whoosh of the elevator door opening behind him and, because he was listening for it, faint footfalls crossing the room. From across the table, Sam saw Clint freeze and his eyes go wide, the forkful of waffle and syrup that he’d been about to shovel into his mouth falling to his lap instead. Clint cursed as he realized and then Sam’s chair was being pulled slightly back and he found himself with two hundred and sixty pounds of half-naked supersoldier sitting sideways in his lap. 

“Morning, baby,” Bucky hummed, helping himself to some of Sam’s breakfast like this was an everyday occurrence. 

From over his shoulder, Bucky could see Steve staring at them, looking like he was having a stroke, and Sam turned his face into Bucky’s neck before Steve could catch him laughing. He met Tony’s eyes in the process, the other man already over any shock and giving Sam a look that was somewhere between amused and impressed. 

Bucky turned his attention on Steve then, and though he was still playing it up, his smile was a little softer, a little more earnest. “Morning Stevie.” 

Sam pressed a soft kiss to Bucky’s shoulder and squeezed his hip reassuringly as Steve blinked at them several times in a row and finally opened his mouth. 

“What the fuck??”

[glapplebloom]

Which of these soulless corporate movies is the least soulless?

Welcome to the Space Jam. Its your chance to do your dance at the Space Jam. Alright? Alright. Both movies are about a Basketball Star Teaming up with the Looney Tunes to play Basketball. So let’s see which one is the better of the two, starting off with...

THE STORY

Original - Aliens have come to kidnap the Looney Tunes. So they decide to have their fate decided by a Basketball Game. But when the Aliens stole the talent of other NBA players, the Looney Tunes decide to kidnap Michael Jordan (yes, they kidnap Michael Jordan as pointed out by Teen Titans going to the old Space Jam Website). After Hijinks they win the game.

Sequel - Lebron’s son got kidnapped by Al G. Rhythm and to get him back he must beat Al in a Basketball game. Thing is he is forces to get a team and he was sent to the Looney Tunes world where he finds Bugs alone. The others are seeing other Warner Brother properties so Bugs and Lebron work together to get them back. Thing is Lebron wants some heavy hitters and despite his efforts he only got toons. Even worse, the basketball game is not straightforward, more people’s lives are on the line and Al got his son to play for his team. Only until Lebron learned that he shouldn’t push people to be like him do the toons come back and win the game.

Winner - Sequel. Calling the original a plot is giving it too much credit. Its more of a concept that is put together than an actual story. If New Legacy’s story is more complex, its only because it has actual progression as things change.

THE BASKETBALL STAR

Original - As a kid, Michael Jordan was destined for greatness. He knew he wanted to be a big time basketball star and as a promise to his dad will also become a baseball star. He retired and is trying his best, but he’s not a good baseball player. It doesn’t help that others are treating him as something special (because they all want some free shoes ~Starfire). So when the Looney Tunes kidnap him, he didn’t want to help until the Monstars messed with him. Now back in the game Michael plays like he never lost a step and help the Looney Tunes win.

Sequel - As a kid, Lebron wants to play basketball. But he’s also a kid so he enjoys having fun like playing a Gameboy Game complete with Bugs Bunny’s Crazy Castle. But because of that, he lost the game. His coach at the time said he could become a great basketball player if he focused. So he did and became King James. Now an adult, he wants his kids to be basketball players too, but his youngest son prefer to make video games. This causes a riff that allows AL G. Rhythm to manipulate his son to work with him. Lebron, forced into the Warner Serververse has to make a team and is stuck with the Looney Tunes. He thinks they could win if they stick with the fundamentals but between the new rules and bias ref, they’re losing badly. So badly an argument breaks out between him and the Toons during halftime. When he figures out he’s treating them like his son, he realized the only way to win is to let them be them. With that knowledge, he ask his son for forgiveness and earns it. After winning the game, he lets his son go to the E3 Game Camp instead of the Basketball Camp.

Winner - Sequel. Lebron has an actual connection with Looney Tunes as a kid, was excited to meet Bugs, has a character arc that takes place throughout the entire movie. Even if you think he’s a bad actor, he at least felt like he was invested in the story.

THE REFERENCES

Original - For Background Easter Eggs, you got a few Looney Tunes Alumni, though they do repeat. Cameos feature other Basketball Stars and Bill Murray. And references are to things of the 90s: Dennis Rodman, Pulp Fiction, Beethoven and Babe, and for some reason Disney. I think the most clever is Larry Bird appearing. In one of the few sports things I know, Larry Bird and Michael Jordan were rivals. How do I know this? I played an NES game about their rivalry.

Sequel - Background and References subtle and not were all about Warner owned properties. As old as Casablanca to as new as Rick and Morty. We got to see the DCAU once more, references to old Looney Tunes gags and places, MC Hammer, Hanna-Barbera, Mad Max: Fury Road (and one I think is a Nostalgia Critic Reference) and so much more. In fact here’s a video featuring them all. Favorite of mine, Michael Jordan’s Cameo.

Winner - This is all your own preference so feel free to pick who you think wins here.

THE SOUNDTRACK

Winner - No competition. Between the title song (turned meme), the inspirational song (sang by someone who doesn’t know how to use a toilet), and the Monstars Anthem the new one can’t compete. But I will say for those thinking that Porky Rapping is “cringe”, the original also had a certain Rabbit rapping. 

THE VILLAINS

Original - The Big Bad is Mr. Swackhammer, owner of Moron Mountain and voiced by Danny DeVito. Sadly he doesn’t do much but be the big bad boss of Nerdlucks. As their tiny small self, they don’t leave much of an impression but they really stand out after stealing the talent of stars and become Monstars. They become big, mean and slightly more different. 

Sequel - Al G. Rhythm is an algorithm the Warner Brothers studios use to help make movie ideas. He wants some recognition and thinks if he can get Lebron on board he can earn it. Sadly, when Lebron refused, he didn’t take it well. So when he saw Lebron’s son take interest in him and ran away from Lebron, Al used that to his advantage. With that, he makes Lebron force to play a basketball game while manipulating his son to not only allow him access to his data but get him to play as well. The Goon Squads are a result of that as its Lebron’s son’s data on other basketball players mixed with superpowers.

Winner - Give Don Cheadle a Disney+ Show Disney! As great as Danny DeVito is, he’s just not in it long enough like Al. Can be manipulative yet also very agro.

THE TOONS

This category will be done differently. I’ll be focusing on their takes on Bugs, Lola, and the Rest. I am not including Daffy in this equation because he’s perfect in both.

Bugs - In the original, Bugs is Bugs. Wisecracking, carrot chewing, master manipulator as always. In the Sequel, he’s one of the few that stood in Looney Tunes world because that’s where he could be him. But the loneliness made him miss everyone (after all, how can he pull off schemes and pranks without victims). And while in the original Bugs saves Lola from being squashed, Bugs risks his life to ensure Lebron doesn’t get deleted when executing the glitch. It makes Bugs’ actions seem more noble than just saving the girl he likes. 

Lola - In the original, she’s a “sexy” no nonsense girl who plays basketball, and that’s it. And despite her attitude, became a damsel in distress and Bugs’ prize for rescuing her. in the sequel, she wants to do her own thing, even doing an Amazon Trial to become one, but failed to complete it when Lebron and Bugs was in danger and finding out Lebron’s son was in the line. So she’s there to give the team another good player and also be a moral support. In fact, its thanks to her that Lebron realizes what he’s been doing to his son.

The Rest - If the original got one thing over the Sequel, its number. A lot more Looney Tunes play in their game in comparison. With the exception of Granny who was a cheerleader, every toon was in the game at one point. I can’t say the same for the Sequel. With that said, the Sequel did get to show their personalities more. Like compare Wile E. in both. In one he gives the Monstars a bomb. The other has him using an Acme device, placing bird seed on the button to get the Roadrunner to press it repeatedly, only to have himself be caught in said machine. They all got the chance to do their thing instead of sharing a spit take.

THE BIG GAME

Original - The Looney Tunes are losing badly in the first half. Why? Because they didn’t go looney for... Reasons. After being tricked into drinking Michael’s “Special Drink”, then they decide to go looney. This allows them to catch up but then the Monstars decide to take them out, which they do despite these attacks being pretty tame to what they can normally take. With a few seconds to go, Michael scores one more basket to win.

Sequel -  The Looney Tunes are losing badly in the first half. Why? Because Lebron is forcing them to play normal basketball despite their opponents and the game itself is anything but normal basketball. When they came back, they came back Looney and managed to catch up and even get ahead. But then Al decides to cheat since he controls the game. Thanks to this being the kid’s game, they know that if they perform a glitch they can take control away from Al long enough to score one more point and win. And thanks to Bugs’ sacrifice and his son moving a power up right underneath him, Lebron slam dunks the final point and wins.

Winner - The sequel. There was no reason for the Looney Tunes to be less looney in the first half in the original and its short live as each one gets taken out. Meanwhile the Sequel gives a valid reason for everything to happen.

My Winner - Space Jam: A New Legacy

Both movies are basically overgrown commercials trying to get you to buy stuff. The original was based off a Shoe Commercial and banking on your nostalgia on Looney Tunes and Michael Jordan the Basketball player to make you interested in seeing him back on court and new Looney Tunes content. The new one is basically for HBO Max. And both movies have also not credited people who deserve to be credited. But between the two of them a New Legacy actually feels like its trying to justify its existence. 

Lebron has a connection with the toons through childhood, has actual stakes in the game, and actually feels invested in the events. The original was basically the Nike commercial stretched to a movie length. And to me, that makes a New Legacy a better movie.